The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives
by NightingaleTear
Summary: When Peter got called on to investigate a theft at a small art gallery, he had no idea it would forever change his life. The story of Peter and Elizabeth Burke.
1. The Assistant Manager & the Yellow Tie

**A/N: I'm a huge White Collar fan, and I'm currently re-watching it for at least the third time. I know this has probably been done before, but I always wanted to write a story about Peter and Elizabeth's relationship because I think they are one of the cutest couples on TV ever. So if you love them as much as I do, I hope you'll enjoy this. Feedback is always much appreciated!**

* * *

Peter Burke was having one of those mornings.

He had woken up to the sounds of his neighbors' very loud and very ugly domestic dispute. Before he could decide whether he should get involved, he had realized that his alarm clock had run out of battery in the middle of the night. Which meant that he had been super late for work. He had gotten up as fast as possible, bought a coffee at the nearest coffee cart, only to almost run into one of those insane bike messengers and spill that coffee all over his tie. Showing up late for work with a coffee-stained tie hadn't exactly endeared him to his boss.

"I was going to give you this new case that just came in, but I'm beginning to think that you've already bitten off more than you can chew." Hughes eyed the stack of case files on Peter's desk.

It was true. Peter was a bit of a case hoarder. Most of the other junior agents were happy to pass things along, but Peter took them all. He just couldn't help himself. He loved his job, and there was something to love about every case. Plus, he was eager for every chance to prove himself as a capable agent. Peter was not a slacker. He was going places. Except, maybe today.

"No, Sir, I can handle it. I had a bit of a slow start this morning, that's all," Peter promised his boss. It wasn't every day that Hughes – who was only one step away from leading the entire White Collar Crime Unit in New York – handed him a case personally. It meant that Peter was on the right track. He was getting noticed.

"All right, there was a theft at a small art gallery downtown early this morning. NYPD responded first, but apparently, the gallery owner has friends in high places. He has asked for the FBI to take over. NYPD has now handed it over to us, and I'm handing it over to you. So don't screw this up, Burke."

Peter shook his head. "No, Sir. I won't."

"Good, I expect a report from you later." Hughes was about to leave, but he turned around one more time. "And fix that goddamn tie of yours before you go down there!"

"Yes, Sir," Peter nodded. Problem was, he didn't actually have an extra tie lying around.

The fellow junior agent at the desk facing his took pity on him. "Here, you can have mine. I won't be leaving the office today," Carl said and handed him a yellow tie. Carl had a colorful personality. Unfortunately, his ties tended to reflect that.

It looked ridiculously bright against Peter's grey suit. He made a face, but he was out of options and out of time. He needed to get down to that art gallery, and he was beginning to think that he just needed to get this entire day over with.

"Thanks," he said and scanned the new case file while he swapped ties.

"Maybe you should slow down a little, Peter. The Bureau isn't paying us enough to run ourselves ragged before we hit forty," Carl gave him some unsolicited advice.

Peter just grinned. "I don't have time to slow down because what I definitely want to be before I hit forty is the owner of my own office."

With that, Peter grabbed the case file that didn't contain a lot of information just yet and headed downtown. He had never heard of the DeArmitt Gallery before, so no matter who owned this gallery, this wasn't shaping up to be a high-profile case. Maybe that was a good thing, considering the day he was having. It would be just his luck if this turned out to be one of those unsolvable cases that no one really cared about but that would forever sit there on his record anyway. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so eager to take this on. But no, every case had something special, Peter reminded himself. He would find something to love about this one, too.

The gallery was closed, which wasn't much of a surprise after the police response this morning, but the receptionist let Peter in and promised to get the assistant manager. Peter was a little annoyed that they had the nerve to specifically request that the FBI handle this case and now they were sending an assistant to talk to him. But it wasn't his place to tell these people how to run this gallery. If the owner didn't think this theft was serious enough to show up in person or at least send the actual manager, that wasn't his problem.

Peter glanced at his watch. He was getting more than a little impatient when he heard the unmistakable clicking of heels on the polished wooden floor. He turned around, and suddenly he couldn't remember what he had just been angry about. Actually, he could barely even remember why he had come here at all. But he was very glad he had.

The woman approaching him was young for an assistant manager – suddenly the title sounded a lot more impressive than just a few seconds ago. But her remarkable beauty had probably helped her to get ahead. And to say that she was beautiful was putting it mildly. She wore a tight black skirt and a fitted blazer over a dark blue blouse with a neckline that was somehow both modest and suggestive at the same time. But as immaculate as her outfit was, it couldn't distract from her pretty face, the dark, glossy hair, and the most striking blue eyes Peter had ever seen.

For a moment, he had no idea where to look or what to do with himself. He wasn't even sure he still knew how to breathe. It was ridiculous for a grown man – a fully trained FBI agent for heaven's sake – to have such a reaction to a woman he hadn't even met yet. But he couldn't help himself. He had never felt like this before.

"I'm so sorry to keep you waiting." The assistant manager was suddenly right in front of him. More importantly, she was talking to him, apologizing for something Peter had still been mad about a minute ago. Now, he suddenly felt the need to assure her that it was nothing to worry about. "It's been one of those mornings, you know."

Peter had been this close to pulling himself together, but now the assistant manager smiled at him. It was a tentative, polite smile. He could only imagine that when she smiled fully, her eyes would sparkle like twin stars. He really wanted to see that smile. But that wasn't what he was here for.

"Oh, I know, believe me," Peter said, fiddling with his awful tie. Why, oh why, did he have to spill coffee on it today of all days? And why did he suddenly care so much about a silly tie rather than the case he was supposed to be working on? He was not on a date, dammit. Oh God, why was he even thinking about dates? He was a professional federal agent, and he was acting like a fool. What the hell had he just said to her? She probably thought he was a joke.

Or maybe not, because her smile was growing, just a little bit, but enough to make Peter's mouth go dry. "You must be the FBI agent?" she prompted.

Hearing the word 'FBI' from her lips finally allowed Peter to get back a modicum of control. She was right. He was an FBI agent, and it was time he acted like one, too. "Yes, Special Agent Peter Burke," he said, and he should have reached for his badge to show it to her, but he offered her his hand instead. He didn't usually shake hands with people involved in his investigations. Actually, he never did that. But he could at least pretend that it was simply a polite gesture rather than the irrational desire to touch her in a way that was appropriate.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to find that strange at all, and she didn't hesitate to take his proffered hand. "Elizabeth Mitchell. I'm the assistant manager." Her hand was small but warm, and it fit perfectly in his.

Quickly, maybe a little too quickly, Peter let go again. The name jogged something in his memory. "According to the police report, you were also a witness to the theft."

"Sort of. I arrived just in time to see them get away. I couldn't stop them unfortunately," she replied, and she seemed upset about that.

"Oh no, it's good that you didn't get involved. If this was a professional hit, you could have gotten hurt," Peter said before his brain had caught up with his mouth. He didn't usually sound so concerned for someone he hadn't even cleared of any wrongdoing yet. But the mere thought of this petite, lovely, young woman getting in the crosshairs of a couple of common criminals made bile rise in his throat.

She gave him a look that he couldn't quite read, but her eyes were soft and deep, inviting him to get lost in them. Thankfully, her words jarred him awake again. "Well, Mr. Sanders, the owner of this gallery, probably would have preferred that to our insurance premium going through the roof."

It was a joke – at least for her sake Peter hoped that it was – but underneath the humor, there was a sort of steely resolve to her demeanor. It was definitely unusual for a witness to be this calm. It should have made Peter suspicious, but somehow his FBI instincts were still riding shotgun in this conversation.

"If Mr. Sanders is so invested in this gallery's possessions, then where exactly is he?" Peter asked, trying not to sound as if he already disliked the man – simply because the assistant manager had suggested that he didn't care about her well-being.

"Somewhere on the Greek Isles," she replied with a wry smile. "I'm keeping him apprised of the situation, but he said the FBI should be able to handle it and to run any questions you might have through me. So I'm afraid, you'll have to make do with me, Agent Burke."

She could have just as well told him that Christmas had come early this year. "It'll be up to the Bureau to decide if Mr. Sanders needs to return to the States for the purpose of this investigation. But it seems to me like I should thank him for staying away and leaving this to you," Peter said and then closed his eyes for a brief second, wondering what the hell was going on with him. Was he actually trying to flirt with this woman? He had never had a lot of game when it came to women, but this felt like a disaster on so many levels. "Would you please tell me again what happened, Ms. Mitchell?" he added quickly, trying to sound like an FBI agent again.

Surprisingly, she didn't laugh in his face, though there was a certain glint in her eyes. And if he wanted to actually solve this case, he needed to stop looking at them. But she made it incredibly hard. "Of course, and please call me Elizabeth. When I hear Ms. Mitchell, I feel like my sister is standing right behind me. She teaches elementary school."

Ms. Mitchell… Elizabeth started to lead him down a hallway, and Peter was glad for the chance to gather his thoughts while she wasn't looking at him. Except, instead of looking for security cameras, he was wondering if it was now Elizabeth who was flirting with him. Volunteering your first name and personal information about your family wasn't exactly normal in a situation like this. They were here to investigate a theft after all. But more importantly, what did it say about Peter that he couldn't tell if this beautiful woman was flirting with him or not?

Elizabeth stopped, and he almost ran right into her, trying to hide that he had been staring at her legs the entire time. "This is our postmodern exhibit," she explained. "As you can see, one of our most priceless paintings was cut right out of the frame. They started on the one next to it, too, but couldn't finish. We would like to take it down so we can restore and reframe it. But nothing has been touched yet since the police secured the crime scene," she pointed at the yellow police tape but wrinkled her nose as if it offended her somehow. "They said you'd be taking over from here."

"Yes, there will be a couple more agents coming in later to gather any evidence the police might have missed. I know the tape isn't exactly a Jackson Pollock piece, but please keep it up and stop all employees from touching anything until we can clear the scene," Peter said. "We'll also need the tapes from your security cameras." He had finally managed to tear his eyes away from her legs to notice them.

"Of course, I already asked Carol to get them when she told me that the FBI was here," Elizabeth nodded. Apparently, Carol was the receptionist. Right now, Peter couldn't even remember what she looked like. "I figured you would want those. I also have a list of all our employees with their contact information and note on which parts of the gallery they regularly have access to, just in case you need to talk to anyone besides me."

She handed him a few sheets of paper from a folder she had been carrying, and Peter marveled at her thoroughness and her ability to anticipate his needs. Instead of questioning why the assistant manager had been sent to deal with him, he was beginning to wonder why Elizabeth wasn't already running this place altogether. And he instantly regretted thinking that her beauty had helped her get ahead in life. Clearly, there was a whole lot more to her than just her good looks.

"Thanks, that'll be a big help," Peter told her, and no, he wasn't fishing for a smile, but he also wasn't upset when he got one. Finally, he reached for his notepad. "When did you first come in this morning, Ms. … uh, Elizabeth?" he asked, tripping over her first name because the familiarity it suggested didn't go with his usual style of questioning.

"At about a quarter past six," she replied, graciously pretending like she hadn't noticed his slip-up.

Peter looked up from his notepad. "That's early," he observed. Apparently, he was pointing out the obvious now. Great.

Elizabeth merely shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

Her face told him that there was more to that story and part of him wanted to ask why. What could possibly be troubling a woman like her, and was there anything he could do to fix it? Then Peter mentally kicked himself. "So it's not your usual time to get to work?" That was actually a case-related question, but somehow it, too, sounded way too personal.

"No, it's not. Usually, the earliest anyone ever comes in is about six thirty, and that's the cleaning crew," Elizabeth replied, sounding almost more professional than he did.

"Then you were the lone witness to the theft this morning?" Peter clarified.

"Yes, the night time security guard is supposed to stay until the cleaning staff arrives, but he always leaves around six."

Peter frowned. "Is that common knowledge?"

"It's not exactly a secret," Elizabeth replied haltingly, but Peter's gut told him that she wasn't trying to be misleading. She simply wasn't sure how many people had known about that. On the other hand, his gut also told him that she was more breathtaking than all the priceless art in this gallery. "Why?" she asked.

He shouldn't answer that question. Under no circumstances was he to tell a potential person of interest about a lead he might have just discovered. "It sounds like someone knew exactly when to break in here. If you hadn't shown up early, they would have gotten away clean with both paintings," he explained to her anyway.

"You're saying it could have been an inside job?" For the first time today, she looked worried.

In an interrogation Peter would have pressed the issue to figure out if she had something to hide. Instead, he did a complete one eighty and tried to comfort her. "It happens more often than you might think. Did you notice anything unusual about anyone lately?"

Elizabeth looked at him, her eyes even bigger and more vulnerable than before. Peter flexed his fingers to stop himself from reaching out to her. "No, not that I know of. But I'll think about it." She was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of ratting out any of her coworkers. He hadn't expected anything else, and he wouldn't push. Not yet, anyway. Not without probable cause.

"Were there any signs that someone had forcibly gained access to the gallery when you came in this morning?" he asked instead.

"No, but I used the main entrance, and when I heard them and they heard me, they busted out back. The police thought they probably came in that way, too."

Peter made a note for the crime scene unit to check that out. "Do you have cameras there as well?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I don't know what's taking Carol so long with those tapes." She gave him an apologetic smile.

He really did need to check those tapes. But he also really needed to keep talking to her. "That's all right. I still need you to describe what it is you saw exactly."

"There were two of them. One of them was already rolling up the first painting to place it in a tube they had brought, while the other one was working on cutting out the second painting. Those two paintings are more valuable in a set. But when I approached, they just ran off with the one they already had. Also, they were wearing masks, so I can't say what they looked like. I think they were both men, one was about six feet maybe, and the other had a ponytail under the mask. Which probably sounds like any other generic witness statement you've ever been given."

"Actually, the ponytail put it over the top," Peter said because he couldn't help himself. He wanted to see her little smile again.

And he got it.

"The police officer I talked to earlier didn't seem very impressed," she told him.

"The NYPD doesn't always take these cases very seriously," Peter said. As if he had been the poster boy for seriousness and professionalism today.

"Shouldn't the FBI be the one with more important cases, like armed robbery or even murder?" Elizabeth wondered and seemed honestly curious.

"Those cases are important, but they are not in my jurisdiction. I'm from the White Collar division. A lot of people think that white-collar crimes are victimless crimes, but that couldn't be further from the truth. One cleverly executed con can cost hundreds of innocent people their savings or bring down entire companies. Not to mention the social and cultural damage that results from stealing or forging priceless pieces of art." Peter froze when he realized that he had gone off on a little tangent. "I'm sorry. That's probably not what you wanted to know."

"Oh no, don't apologize," Elizabeth said, and for a brief moment she reached out to place a hand on his arm. The touch of her fingers sent a tingling from his arm through his entire body, though she let go just as quickly. "You're passionate about your job. I think that's wonderful. And it also makes me feel better about our chances of getting that painting back."

Was she teasing him or complimenting him? It seemed like a fine line, but either way it was driving him crazy. And he was crossing lines left and right anyway. He still wanted to know more about her. Actually, he just wanted more of her. Period. "Don't you like working here?"

"You mean when it doesn't make me a witness to a crime?" she joked.

"Yeah, I guess today isn't exactly shaping up to be a good day," Peter acknowledged.

Elizabeth turned the full force of her sky-blue eyes on him. "I don't know. Right now, it's a lot better than I thought it would be."

And Peter's heart just stopped for a moment.

One moment too long because suddenly Carol was there. With those tapes. The tapes he needed so he could investigate the crime he was really only here to solve. He wasn't here for anything else. "Thanks. I guess I better get these back to the office then," Peter forced himself to say.

"Of course. Do you need anything else?" Elizabeth asked.

He really, really wanted to say yes. Wanted to come up with something, anything, that would give him a reason to stay here with her. But right now there was nothing more pressing than those security tapes. "Not right now. I'll call you if that changes," Peter told her. What he really wanted to say was that he would call her regardless. Or rather, he wanted to ask her if she would like him to call her. About something not related to the case. Like dinner.

But no. He couldn't, wouldn't do that. It was unprofessional. And he refused to make a fool of himself by asking out a woman who had to be seeing someone. There was no way Peter was the first guy in New York City to notice her. What he thought might have been flirting had probably just been her way of being nice to him. She seemed like a very kind person.

So Peter said his goodbyes and made himself leave. He had only taken a few steps when her voice rang out behind him.

"I like your tie, by the way."

He turned back around, his mouth slightly hanging open in surprise. Was it possible that she was trying to delay his leaving as well? By commenting on his tie, of all the possible things to say? Not quite sure what to think, Peter looked at his borrowed tie in dismay. It still looked every bit as ridiculous as before. "That was an accident, actually."

"It's not that bad," Elizabeth said. "It seems to me like you could use a little color while investigating white-collar crimes. Only…" She stepped closer to him, almost breaching his personal space, and Peter's heart shot straight into his mouth. "May I?" she asked, pointing at his tie.

Peter could only nod in response.

Apparently, his tie had been a little crooked all this time because Elizabeth reached out to straighten it and tighten the knot. When she was done, her hands rested on his chest for a few fleeting seconds, almost as if she had to remind herself that this was rather inappropriate contact with an FBI agent. She stepped back quickly, but she smiled when she said, "That's better."

Peter was at a loss for words. When he had told himself that he would find something to love about this case, he hadn't thought about something that monumental.

He was in trouble, and he needed to leave before he was in too deep to get out. "Thanks. Uh, goodbye, Elizabeth."

"Goodbye, Agent Burke."

It was a good thing he hadn't told her to call him Peter. It allowed him to hide behind his rank.

He was Special Agent Peter Burke and he had a goddamn job to do.

* * *

A/N: As far as I know, the name and occupation of El's sister were never revealed on the show, so I took the liberty of making them up.


	2. Late Nights and Sweet Dreams

He kept seeing her face – those striking blue eyes and that smile that wouldn't stop teasing him that there was more left to uncover. He kept feeling the ghost of the touch of her fingers on his chest, wishing he could have grabbed her hands and wrapped them in his. He kept going over every word she had said, wondering if it was at all possible that she was interested.

It was driving Peter nuts.

He had been granted a reprieve when one of his other cases had urgently required his attention. It had allowed him to not think about the DeArmitt Gallery or its beautiful assistant manager for several blissful hours.

But when Peter finally got around to watching those security tapes, it hit him again. He scanned those hallways on the TV screen, the postmodern exhibit, and all he saw in his mind's eye was Elizabeth walking ahead of him. How he had tried not to be the kind of guy who kept staring at her backside. And failed. Spectacularly.

It distracted him so much that it took him a good long while to realize that what he was watching wasn't right. The tapes had the wrong date stamp on them. This was the kind of mix-up that usually made Peter furious because it could delay, sometimes even derail entire investigations.

This time, he smiled like a little kid on Christmas morning.

Peter reached for the employee list Elizabeth had given him and looked up her home phone number. It didn't even feel like an invasion of her privacy since she had told him to contact her if he needed anything. And it wasn't as if he was calling for personal reasons. This was all within the scope of his investigation.

Purely professional.

If only his heart had stopped hammering in his chest when the phone started to ring.

It took a rather long time for Elizabeth to pick up. _"Hello?"_ She sounded tired, sluggish even, as if she had just been hauled out of bed.

Suddenly Peter realized that he was the only one still in the office. An office that was dark with the exception of his desk.

"Oh God, I forgot how late it is. That happens to me all the time when I'm at work. I'm so sorry," Peter's words almost tumbled over each other in his hurry to apologize.

There was a short pause.

" _Who is this?"_ Elizabeth asked, now sounding both tired and confused.

Peter had never hated himself more. "This is Peter. Burke, I mean. Peter Burke, from the FBI."

" _Oh, of course. What can I do for you, Agent Burke?"_ It was a get-right-to-it kind of question. Part of him had been hoping for a little more… something. But since he had just woken her up, he should probably be glad that she was willing to talk to him at all.

"It's about the tapes from the security cameras. I'm afraid the ones you gave me are from last week," he explained.

Elizabeth sighed. _"They must have been mislabeled. Again. Our security isn't exactly topnotch. But I don't have to explain that to the FBI agent who's investigating us for theft."_ She laughed softly.

It was a beautiful sound. Peter wished he could actually see her. Only that led to him thinking about her being in bed right now and whether she was alone in that bed and how he had no right to hope that she was… Not to mention what she might be wearing...

" _Agent Burke?"_

Peter snapped back to attention, angry that he had stopped listening to her – which was pretty rude, considering he had been the one to call her in the middle of the night. "Yes?"

" _I was saying that I'll look for the right tapes first thing tomorrow… unless you need me to go get them right now?"_

For a second, he imagined how the two of them would meet up in the privacy of the closed gallery at this late hour, but then he shook his head. "No, of course not. Tomorrow's fine."

" _Then why are you still at work? Don't you need to get home?"_ It almost sounded as if she had stopped herself from saying 'home to someone.'

The truth was he didn't. There was nothing waiting for him in his apartment. He didn't even have a plant that needed watering. Somehow that didn't strike him as the right thing to say. "I just get lost in the work. It's a habit. Again, I'm sorry for waking you up."

" _That's okay. I'm sure you'll make it up to me."_ She probably meant by recovering the stolen painting, and the innuendo in that statement wasn't intended. Or was she actually giving him an opening to say: 'Sure, how about dinner?'

Since Peter couldn't decide what to think or say, there was an awkward pause until Elizabeth said, _"I should get back to bed, and I think you should go home, too, Agent Burke. I'm sure the bad guys won't mind if you get a decent night's sleep."_

Even though she was still using his last name – since he hadn't told her otherwise – the way she spoke to him sounded so familiar, almost intimate, as if they hadn't just met less than 24 hours ago.

"Right, I'll let you go now," Peter nodded, though she couldn't see. "Sweet dreams, Elizabeth," he said before hanging up.

Then he stared at the phone.

Sweet dreams? Had he really just said that to her?

It was proof that Elizabeth had been right. He really needed to get home and catch up on some sleep. Only, he was afraid of what he would see when he closed his eyes.

No, actually, that didn't scare him. If he happened to dream about those beautiful blue eyes of hers, he certainly wouldn't complain.

But he was scared of what it meant that this had never happened to him before.


	3. Person of Interest

Time was going excruciatingly slowly today. It almost felt as if it was going backwards. There was still another hour to go until her lunch break. Elizabeth drummed her fingers on her desk. If only there was something for her to do other than wait. But since the investigation into the theft was still ongoing and Mr. Sanders wanted to avoid any bad press, the gallery was still closed. There was even talk about pushing the opening of the new exhibit. Elizabeth had worked really hard to get everything ready for that opening, but she tried not to think about that.

In two years of working at this gallery, nothing like this had ever happened. But the one week where Mr. Sanders was out of the country and Jackson was on sick leave, leaving her, the assistant manager, in charge, a priceless painting went missing. Somehow she must have amassed really bad karma.

Or so Elizabeth had thought until Peter Burke had walked in. Even just thinking about him brought a smile to her lips. He was quietly handsome in a way that had snuck up on her the longer they had talked. Sure, the tie hadn't exactly done him a lot of favors at first, but it had stood in stark and yet intriguing contrast to his no-nonsense personality.

Although, from what she could tell, there were several layers to this man. He was obviously passionate about his work. She had realized that long before his phone call last night. It was something she admired in a man because she felt the same way. But underneath the professional FBI exterior there seemed to be a man who was smart and kind and even funny.

Also, she had caught him staring at her. Not in the way that she was used to, though. Her sister insisted that it was a compliment. But the thought that men who were complete strangers to her were basically undressing her in their mind's eye had always made Elizabeth uncomfortable. Agent Burke's stare had been a little bit like that, but mostly he had looked at her as if he couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. As if she was different from all the other pretty women he must have already seen in his life and line of work. And as if he would treat her differently, too. Now _that_ was flattering. It made her feel safe somehow.

And that was exactly what she needed right now. Except, it was also the very thing she didn't need. It was horribly cliché, but after her last bad break-up, Elizabeth had sworn off men for a while. But she hadn't thought of a certain handsome FBI agent when she had done that. For once, she had never met an FBI agent before. And then, she had most certainly never met an FBI agent who wore a yellow tie and his heart on his sleeve.

Long story short, her good intentions had gone right out of the window and she had flirted with him anyway. Or at least tried to. Elizabeth wasn't exactly sure if Agent Burke had noticed. Or rather, if he had any interest in reciprocating. That stunt she had pulled, straightening his tie like that, had been pretty on the nose. Especially when her hands had come to rest on his chest. She hadn't meant to do that, but in that moment he had been so tall and warm and exactly the kind of safe haven the hole in her heart was looking for.

With her last boyfriend, a part of her had always warned her to be careful and not to give away her heart so easily. She simply hadn't listened. With Peter Burke, she felt no such misgivings. Maybe it was the fact that he was an FBI agent, but Elizabeth couldn't imagine that he had ever broken anyone's heart.

Which was why she was sitting here now, desperately waiting for her lunch hour. It might be nothing but a fluke. Or maybe she was wrong about Agent Burke after all. Perhaps he was married and left his wedding ring at home for safety reasons. But as long as he didn't make it clear to her either way, this sort of instant attraction between them was worth following up on.

Plus, Elizabeth really was obligated to bring him those tapes. She had gone through a whole stack of them and double-checked that she had finally found the right ones. Of course, she could have called and asked him to pick them up. But she wanted to know more about Peter Burke. What better place to start than at the FBI?

When it was finally time for her lunch hour, Elizabeth took the subway to get to the FBI headquarters. She had never been here before, had never even noticed the tall skyscraper specifically. It was just one of many in New York. But she had looked it up last night, and she tried not to look like a deer caught in headlights when she entered the lobby.

Lots of people in suits that ranged from fancy to government salary walked past her. Some of them were visibly wearing guns, Tasers, or handcuffs. No one took special notice of Elizabeth so she figured that she wasn't forbidden from coming here. She had a legitimate reason to be here after all. No need to mention that she was also stalking a certain FBI agent.

Since Elizabeth had no idea where to find him, she headed for the receptionist desk. "Hi, I'm looking for Special Agent Peter Burke from the White Collar division."

The woman behind the counter barely even looked at her and told her to sign in as a visitor. "21st floor."

Elizabeth thanked her anyway and stepped onto the next elevator. There weren't a lot of people going up at the moment. Most of them were coming down. Elizabeth began to question whether it had been a good idea to wait for her lunch hour to do this. She had wanted to have sufficient time and not feel like she needed to hurry back to the gallery. Only she hadn't considered that everyone here was also going out for lunch. What if Agent Burke wasn't even there?

The elevator doors opened to the 21st floor, and it was too late to turn back. Elizabeth firmly held on to her purse – as if anyone would forcibly take the tapes away from her – and walked through those big glass doors. The White Collar offices weren't as bad as she had thought. Sure, the walls were a little drab, and it smelled of printer fumes and stale coffee, but the big glass windows allowed for lots of natural light to come in. It made the room almost welcoming.

The offices were almost empty at this hour, just as Elizabeth had feared. But there was one agent in the bullpen who was bent over a case file, holding a half-forgotten sandwich in his hand. Elizabeth couldn't help the smile that bloomed on her face as she headed for his desk.

When Agent Burke noticed her approach and looked up, his eyes widened, and he dropped his sandwich in surprise. Maybe she should have called ahead. She couldn't really tell if he was happy to see her or not. Elizabeth hoped she wasn't embarrassing him. Then again, there was no one around to see.

"Elizabeth," Agent Burke greeted her, getting up so fast that he banged his knee against the table. She would have felt bad for him if it hadn't been so sweet that she seemed to make him this nervous – even now that they were on his turf. "How did you… I mean, did I know you were coming?"

"No, and I didn't mean to disturb your lunch." Elizabeth eyed the half-eaten sandwich. It didn't look like much. "I just wanted to bring you these." She reached into her purse and pulled out the tapes. "I checked them myself this time. These should be the ones you're looking for."

"Thanks, that's great. But, uh, did you look at them?"

Elizabeth had held out the tapes to him, and Agent Burke had reached out to take them, only then his question had made him stop, and now they were both sort of holding on to them. Which meant that their fingertips were touching. It was meaningless and coincidental and yet entirely distracting. So it took her a moment to respond. "Only to check if the dates were correct this time. I didn't contaminate any evidence, did I?"

Agent Burke finally took the tapes out of her hand and placed them on his desk. She had a feeling he did that to hide the true answer to her question that was written on his face. When he looked at her again, he simply shrugged it off. "Nah, it'll be fine. I could have picked them up, though. You didn't have to go out of your way to bring them over."

"I didn't. I was just on my lunch break anyway. Is that something you do around here? Have lunch?" Her voice was light, a little teasing, and definitely more than a little suggestive.

"Yeah, usually we do. But when I have a lot on my plate, I mostly just work through lunch," was his rather succinct reply.

There was nothing dismissive about it, though. His eyes didn't leave her face and he wasn't fidgeting with a pen, didn't keep glancing at his computer, or displayed any other signs of wanting to get back to work.

So Elizabeth leaned against his desk, angling her body towards him, and leaned forwards just a little, but it was enough to make some of her hair fall into her face. "You do seem to work a lot, Agent Burke. Between the late-night phone calls and not taking lunch, I'm beginning to wonder if you ever get to eat?"

For a moment, Agent Burke's eyes lost focus, not sure whether to keep looking into her eyes or at her hair, her lips, or to drift even lower than that to where Elizabeth had hopefully not forgotten to button up her blouse. But then he firmly settled on her face again. "I do. Actually, there's this great Italian place just a few blocks from here. I love it there. They make a great Fettucine Alfredo."

They locked eyes for a lot longer than was normal for two people who were having a casual conversation, and Elizabeth was holding her breath for him to say something else, or maybe ask something else.

But he didn't.

Eventually, Elizabeth straightened up again. "Sounds nice," she said, but she was beginning to think there was a rule against FBI agents inviting witnesses to lunch or dinner. She had no idea how else to explain that Agent Burke kept looking at her like that but refused to pick up on any of the hints she had already given him.

"It is," Agent Burke confirmed, but he seemed to realize the redundancy of his statement the second he said it.

And yet, he still didn't make her leave. So Elizabeth reached for the one thing she knew would get him talking. "So, any leads on the stolen painting yet?"

"A few. But it's still early, so we'll have to wait and see if any of them pan out. Plus, I really do need to check those tapes." He said it apologetically as if he didn't really want to, but it was the kind of hint Elizabeth had been expecting.

"Of course, I'll leave you to it then," she said, shouldering her purse and getting ready to leave.

"You never answered my question," Agent Burke suddenly stopped her.

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "Which question?" The only one that came to mind was definitely a question he hadn't asked yet.

"Whether you like working at the gallery," Burke explained.

She remembered now, and she also got the feeling that this was his version of how she had stopped him from leaving by commenting on his tie yesterday. Agent Burke's flirting – if that's what it was – wasn't exactly elegant, but Elizabeth would take it. "Is that pertinent to the case?" she asked, keeping her tone light, letting him know that she was just having some fun.

"It could be. I'm obligated to check out everyone who works there," Burke confirmed, but he wasn't being serious either.

"Then did you ask Carol why she works at the gallery? I'm sure she'd love to tell you how she's trying to make it on Broadway."

Burke smirked. "Good to know. But are you deliberately trying to avoid answering my question?"

"Would I be breaking any laws if I were?" She was being silly now, but she was enjoying herself too much to care.

"Well, somebody stole that painting, and if you're withholding information from me, I might have to arrest you." He was joking, but he said it with enough lingering authority for a shiver to run down her spine.

Who knew FBI agents could be this sexy?

"In that case, the answer is yes. I do like it," Elizabeth gave in because the truth was that she didn't mind telling him if he was actually interested in her answer. "I've always loved art."

"Do you paint?" he asked earnestly and looked as if he would believe her if she told him that she had already sold countless paintings.

It made her smile and it also made her want to be honest. "No, I've dabbled in pottery, but certainly nothing you would find at a museum. I just enjoy working with art. I love getting people to come and see it, to appreciate it, to find a piece of themselves in it, and maybe even a way to express themselves with it."

Agent Burke's eyes emanated so much warmth when he looked at her, for a moment Elizabeth thought she might never be cold again. Then he said in all seriousness, "I can't make you any promises because we don't do that around here. But I will do everything I can to recover that painting."

"I believe you," Elizabeth said, because she did. She really did.

The office glass doors opened behind them and an African American agent headed straight for them, or rather the desk facing Agent Burke's. He also wore a bright blue tie, which made Elizabeth think that she had found the actual owner of the famous yellow tie.

She wasn't going to ask though, and she figured that she should leave now that they weren't alone anymore. "Well, you know where to find me if there's anything else," she said, trying not to put too much emphasis on 'anything.'

Agent Burke only nodded. "Thanks again for the tapes."

Elizabeth gave him a smile and waited for another few seconds to see if he wanted to offer to walk her out. He didn't. But when she finally did leave, she could feel his eyes lingering on her back the entire time until she stepped on the elevator.

Her little lunch outing hadn't gone exactly as she had hoped. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she knew more about Agent Burke than she had before. His eyes talked to her in a way that the rest of him seemed unable or unwilling to follow up on. He certainly wasn't a flirt. But his underlying sincerity was a lot more intriguing to Elizabeth anyway. And she did know one thing. She couldn't stop smiling at the thought that as long as this investigation was ongoing, she might see him again.

* * *

"Who was that?" Carl asked after settling at his desk.

"The assistant manager at the gallery I'm investigating," Peter replied as nonchalantly as possible.

"Damn, maybe I should check out that gallery, too!" Carl whistled.

Peter knew that Carl was just messing around, but the thought of him hitting on Elizabeth made him curl his hands into fists. "You better stay the hell away from my investigation!" he warned him.

Carl raised both eyebrows at him. "From your investigation or from her?"

"I won't even dignify that with a response," Peter said and tried to get back to work.

But Carl wouldn't let him. "No shit, you're into her! The perfect Peter Burke has finally found something to obsess about other than this job."

Peter gritted his teeth. "I'm serious, Carl. You better stop talking about this now!"

"Hey, I'm on your side, man!" Carl continued. "I've been the one telling you that there's more to life than work. Lunch isn't over yet. You should go after her. She's probably still in the building…"

"I'm not seeing her. I'm putting her under surveillance," Peter snapped.

"What?" Carl asked, his voice rising a couple of octaves. "You're telling me that girl is a suspect?"

"A person of interest," Peter amended because he didn't want any of this to get back to Elizabeth. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her in any way. Plus, 'person of interest' was the most fitting description he could come up with. She was a person of interest to _him._

Carl still shook his head. "She didn't look like a criminal to me. She looked like…"

"She's not a criminal. It's just a precaution," Peter interrupted him because he didn't want to hear what Carl thought Elizabeth looked like. He knew what she looked like. Like a woman, not girl, you met once in a lifetime. A woman who could disappear at any moment because she had never felt quite real to begin with. A woman he was willing to lie to the FBI for.

Because putting Elizabeth under surveillance wasn't precautionary. It was misappropriating FBI resources for his own personal peace of mind. He had been this close to asking her out when they had been on the topic of his favorite restaurant _._ And for a brief moment, he had been sure that she had wanted him to.

But then he had looked at her, really looked at her, and stopped himself. The investigation was still ongoing. Even if she wasn't actually a suspect, he was in a position of power, and he didn't want her to feel obligated to say yes to him. Also, as long as he didn't ask, she couldn't tell him that she was already seeing someone and that this sudden attraction between them wasn't real.

But Peter knew that he was operating on borrowed time. This investigation would close at some point, and no matter how much it scared him to learn the truth, he needed to know for sure before then. Putting her under surveillance was the easiest way to do that. He felt a little bad for invading Elizabeth's privacy like that, but he told himself that she wouldn't even notice. And New York City could be a dangerous place to live, so at least she would be a little safer for the next few days with an FBI tail.

So Peter picked up the phone and put in the request.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed so far. Much appreciated!**


	4. What the Heart wants

**A/N: I took some creative license with this one, but it's Halloween, right? Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Mr. Sanders had indeed decided to push back the opening of the new exhibit. He had made that decision at a quarter to five. So Elizabeth had kissed her plans for the night goodbye and settled in to spend the evening at work. With the ongoing investigation and everything being so uncertain right now, she could have just put it off until tomorrow. But she refused to let all her hard work go to waste. The only way cancelling all those plans for the original opening felt a little less frustrating was by making new ones right away.

She was scribbling away on a legal pad, going over the new budget, when she heard a distant thump filtering through the closed office door. Looking up, Elizabeth noticed that it had gotten really late. It had been dark outside the window for a while. The city of New York never slept, of course, but the same wasn't true for the DeArmitt Gallery. There was no one else supposed to be here besides her.

But those were definitely footsteps she was hearing.

Elizabeth's heart began to race. She knew there were a million possible explanations and she should have just opened the door to check. But she had already witnessed one break-in this week. It might have made her a little paranoid, but she was keenly aware of the fact that the night time security guard had called in sick. And the security company hadn't been able to send a replacement this last minute. So there was no one guarding the gallery tonight and no one who had any legitime reason to sneak around in it at this hour.

But if she called the police and she was wrong about this…

Her eyes landed on the card Agent Burke had left here when he had first introduced himself. He had already proven to her that he was in the habit of working late. Elizabeth had no idea if she had any right to call him like this, and she really didn't want him to think of her as someone who cried wolf. But the need to have him make her feel safe again was more powerful.

She picked up the phone and dialed his number, waiting with bated breath.

" _Special Agent Peter Burke,"_ he answered after only the second ring, his voice calm and collected. Simply hearing it made Elizabeth stop shaking a little.

"Agent Burke, this is Elizabeth from the DeArmitt Gallery," she said as quietly as possible without resorting to a whisper.

" _Elizabeth!?"_ She could hear the surprise in Agent Burke's voice, but he seemed to push it aside when he picked up on her muted tone. _"Is everything all right?"_

"This will probably sound stupid, but I'm still at the gallery, working late. Everyone else went home hours ago. But I think… I think there's someone in here with me now," Elizabeth explained and waited for him to tell her that she was overreacting.

Instead, his response was sharp and quick. _"Is there a guard or anyone from security you can call?"_

"No, they called in sick. There's no one else here, or at least there shouldn't be. Unless they sent a replacement after all…" She felt a little silly when she thought of that possibility, and she was at a loss as to what she should do now.

Agent Burke on the other hand didn't even hesitate. _"Where exactly are you?"_

"I'm in the office," she told him.

" _Is there anything of value in there? Like a safe or cash?"_

"Not at the moment." The gallery had been closed all week after all.

" _Good, then here's what I want you to do. Lock the door, turn off the lights, and don't move until I get there. You hear me, Elizabeth?"_ His voice was urgent but authoritative. Clearly, this was what he had been trained to do. This was something he was in control of. He was taking her seriously, hadn't even doubted her for a second.

It made Elizabeth feel better and worse at the same time. Agent Burke was coming, but he also thought that she was right and that she could even be in danger. "Yes, I understand," she said, trying to keep a quiver out of her voice.

Agent Burke seemed to detect it anyway. _"Don't worry, Elizabeth. Everything's going to be fine."_

"I thought you didn't make any promises," Elizabeth reminded him.

" _I'm not making promises. I'm giving you my word,"_ Burke said gravely, and, whether she was actually in any danger or not, she would have trusted him with her life in that moment.

But in order for him to get to her, they needed to hang up. And Elizabeth followed his orders. She locked the office door, turned off the lights, and sat back down quietly.

That left her with nothing to do except to listen closely. She had no idea how much time passed. At first, everything was quiet, and Elizabeth was beginning to think that she would look like a fool when Agent Burke arrived. Although, at this point, she was certain that he would be gracious about it. And if he were to jump to the conclusion that she had lured him here to be alone with him, well, there were worse things than that. Maybe they could finally revisit the issue of that Italian restaurant he seemed to like so much.

Her smile at the thought faded instantly when she heard a vase shattering into pieces on the hard floor. Her heart stopped for a second. She had not been overreacting. This was really another break-in. And she knew exactly what they had come for. The second painting. The one they had tried to cut out of its frame before. The one that made the first one they had already taken a whole lot more valuable.

Once the FBI had cleared the original crime scene, Elizabeth had taken down the half-sliced painting and put it into the storage room until they had time to restore it properly. And – hopefully – until such time as the two paintings could be reunited. In the storage room, there was also a Ming Dynasty vase, waiting to be authenticated, and it stood right next to the door. Elizabeth knew that because she had almost knocked it over herself just this morning. So now she also knew exactly where the break-in was happening.

And once again, she was the only one to witness it. Even worse, she was the last person to have touched the painting that was now about to be stolen as well. Elizabeth didn't need to be a trained FBI agent to realize that this looked really bad. Maybe not in the eyes of Peter Burke, but he wasn't the one who could fire her. Mr. Sanders was. And he wasn't happy as it was.

A bold thought suddenly ripped through her. The storage room sort of doubled as a vault and could only be opened and locked with a thick bolt from the outside. If the thieves were inside the storage room right now and she could maybe get there without them noticing, she could lock them in until the FBI arrived.

Agent Burke had made it very clear that she shouldn't move, and Elizabeth really didn't want to. But she also didn't want to get fired. And the knowledge that the FBI was already on the way, no, that Peter Burke was coming for her, gave her the courage to act. That she had to disobey him to do that was an unfortunate side effect.

Slowly, Elizabeth unlocked the door and opened it just enough to peer through the resulting crack. The empty gallery was dark. Thankfully her eyes had already adjusted. Since she didn't stand a chance of being quiet enough otherwise, Elizabeth took off her shoes and then tiptoed through the darkness as fast as possible. She felt the overwhelming urge to squeeze her eyes shut, but that would have defeated the whole purpose of this.

With her heart beating so frantically she was surprised it hadn't already jumped out of her chest, Elizabeth reached the storage room. She had been right. The door was open, and there might have been a soft light inside, but she couldn't really tell. And she didn't wait to find out. She slammed the door shut and slid the bolt in place, locking it.

Leaning against the securely locked door, Elizabeth felt pretty good about herself for a minute. Until she realized that there were no sounds coming from inside the storage room – no yelling or cursing or banging against the door or any other proof of someone trying to escape. What if she had been too late? What if the thieves had already slipped back out of the storage room and were now roaming the hallways, looking for whoever had almost locked them in?

Staying here in the dark suddenly seemed like a very bad idea to Elizabeth. As much as she wanted to find out if she had caught the thieves or not, her sudden bravery was pretty much spent. Curling up into a ball and hiding under the table seemed much more tempting. Quickly, she tried to make her way back to the office. If only she could get there and do exactly what Agent Burke had told her to do…

Before she could take another step, she bumped right into someone, who immediately grabbed a hold of her, and her scream echoed through the empty gallery.

A couple of flashlights flickered to life in front of her and a familiar voice said, "Elizabeth, it's okay. It's the FBI."

She blinked a couple of times, taking in the concerned face of Agent Burke and two more agents behind him. Then she took the first real deep breath since this whole thing had started. "Agent Burke," was everything she managed to say at first, but it was also everything she needed right now.

He nodded, seeing that she was slowly calming down. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine." At least now that he was here.

"What are you doing out here? I thought I told you to stay in the office," Agent Burke said sharply.

Elizabeth winced. He had always been kind to her, but she wouldn't want to be in the shoes of any criminal who crossed him. "I didn't want them to get away again, so I tried to lock them inside the storage room. But I think they got out anyway," she explained.

"Can you show us where the storage room is?"

Now that Agent Burke had asked her to move, Elizabeth realized that her body was still flush against his from their collision. And he had both of his arms wrapped around her, holding her securely to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Without her shoes on, Burke was even taller – the perfect height to rest her head on his chest. Suddenly, moving was the last thing Elizabeth wanted to do.

But she nodded and stepped back a little. Instantly, her body felt cold. Wrapping her arms around herself, she showed the FBI where to go. They were almost there when there was a sudden movement in front of her.

Everything happened very fast then. Agent Burke shoved her behind him and safely out of the way before stopping the blurry shape of someone trying to get past them. The thief went down, and an agent was on him with cuffs in an instant. When he pulled him back up and illuminated his face with a flashlight, Elizabeth covered her mouth with both hands in shock. It wasn't a guy at all.

"Carol!? It was you? This entire time?" Elizabeth couldn't believe what she was seeing.

"I have nothing to say to you," Carol hissed.

"We'll see about that," Agent Burke stepped between them and nodded to the other agent who wordlessly led her away. Then he turned to Elizabeth and said, "I need you to go back to the office and wait there while we clear the rest of the gallery."

Still in shock, Elizabeth barely felt his warm hand on her arm and could only nod. In her head, she went over everything she knew or she had thought she knew about the woman who had manned the gallery's receptionist desk. It didn't lead her anywhere close to what had happened tonight.

Eventually, the lights were turned back on in the gallery and more agents arrived. With the shock and the adrenaline subsiding, Elizabeth was beginning to get really tired.

As if on cue, Agent Burke finally returned and said, "I'm sorry for the long wait, Elizabeth. We had to make sure that her partner wasn't hiding out anywhere and check that nothing else was stolen. But we're done here now."

"What about the second painting?" Elizabeth asked quickly. Since they had caught Carol, she assumed that the painting was safe, but she needed to know for sure.

"How did you know that she was going after that painting?" Burke answered her with a question of his own.

"I told you that they were more valuable in a set," Elizabeth reminded him.

Burke nodded as if to himself. "It's safe. We'll be taking it into evidence now. But you'll get it back once this case is over."

"I'll hold you to that," Elizabeth promised him since the painting being in FBI custody was only marginally better than it being stolen.

Burke smiled at that and said, "Well, while you're checking up on the FBI, you can also give us your official statement of tonight's events. But there's time for that tomorrow. For now, I can give you a ride home."

"You don't need to do that. I'll be fine," Elizabeth replied, but she could barely keep her eyes open.

"Please, it's the least I can do," Agent Burke insisted.

After everything that had happened, Elizabeth couldn't deny that the thought of his company on the way home and the guarantee of safety that came with it were much too tempting to resist further. Never mind that it made no sense that she trusted this man so much. Yes, he was an FBI agent, but there were a lot of those around here these days, and she felt no particular desire to get into any of their cars.

She did get into Agent Burke's car, though, and gave him her address. He nodded as if he already knew where to go and Elizabeth settled back into the passenger seat.

But she still couldn't relax. "So how does this help us to find the first painting?" she asked, realizing a little late that maybe she shouldn't have said 'us' like that.

Agent Burke didn't seem to mind. "There was no sign of her partner, but CSU is only just getting started. And now that we have her, it shouldn't be hard to get her to give him up and hopefully the painting as well."

"I think she mentioned a boyfriend once," Elizabeth remembered. "It seemed like they were very much in love."

"The prospect of a longer prison sentence usually takes care of that," Burke said, sounding almost callous.

Elizabeth looked up at him. "Don't you believe in the kind of love that's strong enough to go to prison for?"

Agent Burke stared at her, then visibly swallowed and pushed away whatever had been his first thought. "I prefer the kind that's not in conflict with the law."

"But that's not how it works," Elizabeth argued. "Sometimes the heart just wants what the heart wants."

"That saying always sounded to me like an excuse to break the rules," Burke said, shaking his head and keeping his eyes on the road.

Elizabeth leaned a little closer to him, as much as her seatbelt would allow. "What's wrong with breaking the rules every now and then?" she challenged him. She had always believed in living her life to the fullest. Ever since college she had matured a lot. But she still had a bit of a wild side. And she was curious if she could get Agent Burke to abandon his reticent ways and match her passion.

There was a bemused smile on his lips. "You do realize you're talking to an FBI agent?"

Okay, so maybe now was not the time to mention the only two minor run-ins with the law Elizabeth had ever had. Still, she didn't want to give up just yet. "What about the man Peter Burke?"

His eyes went back and forth between her and the windshield, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. "Right now, he's trying not to get us both killed in a car accident."

Elizabeth sighed and leaned back into her seat. "Now _that_ sounds like an excuse to me," she said.

They stopped at a red light, which gave Agent Burke the chance to look at her fully. "Are you saying you would want a man to break the rules for you?"

"I wouldn't want him to steal anything," she clarified. "But I don't want to think that love is nothing but a number – like how many years in prison it's worth or not. And if it's more than that, then doing something you never thought you would do seems like a good start."

The light turned green, and they kept driving, but Agent Burke was quiet, as if mulling over her words.

Elizabeth was a little unnerved by his silence, so she said, "I hope you don't think of me as a troublemaker now."

"No, but I do think you're very brave for catching Carol Rhodes," he replied

"I didn't catch her. You did," Elizabeth corrected him.

"You called us in and delayed her long enough for us to do that," Burke said.

She gave him a smile that was just a little teasing. "It's a good thing you work so late."

"I have a case to solve," he pointed out. "What about you? Why were you still at the office?"

"I had an exhibit opening to cancel and reschedule," she told him.

Burke kept looking straight ahead. "When's the new opening?"

"In two weeks, provided the gallery is open by then." Elizabeth glanced at him. "You should come. I'm sure Mr. Sanders would give you a private showing for everything you've done."

Agent Burke frowned. "I'm not sure a private showing with a guy who plays golf with my superiors is something I'm interested in."

"I sometimes do private showings, too," Elizabeth said.

Burke stepped on the brakes a little too hard, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. "Sorry about that. I almost went right past it."

Elizabeth looked out the window and saw that they had indeed arrived in front of her apartment building. The lights on the sidewalk were on, and it really wasn't far from the car to the entrance. Still, she felt reluctant to get out. "Thank you for driving me home. I know you still have a lot of work to do."

"My pleasure, Elizabeth. I hope you'll be able to get some sleep now," Burke replied, and the way he said it told her that he remembered her telling him about her sleeplessness the night of the first break-in. It didn't seem like relevant information for him to memorize and yet he had.

That did funny things to her stomach. And though she had been really tired earlier, riding in the confines of the dark car with him had remedied that. "I should probably get some dinner first," she mused. "I think I forgot to eat in all of this."

"That great Italian place I told you about? They also have a delivery service."

Elizabeth laughed softly, wondering if she would ever get to see that place. She wanted to invite him to come inside, pick up the phone, and order them anything he wanted.

Instead, she said, "Thank you, Agent Burke."

She couldn't quite make out the expression on his face when he looked at her in the moonlight. But he said, "It's Peter. At least when I'm not at work."

"And when is that?" Elizabeth asked, partly teasing and partly honestly curious.

"Not tonight. I have to get back to interrogating your receptionist."

"Well, then good luck with that, and thank you again, _Peter."_ Elizabeth leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. When she pulled back again, she stopped for a second with her lips hovering close to his mouth. Her eyes searched his, waiting to see if either one of them wanted to do any rule breaking tonight. It seemed like Peter wasn't even breathing.

Elizabeth smiled and got out of the car.

* * *

As soon as Elizabeth was safely back inside her apartment building, Peter rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

He had a million things to do, but the only thing he really wanted to do was to go through those surveillance photos of her. He probably shouldn't expect much, though, because the rookie agent who was supposed to be tailing Elizabeth had fallen asleep in his car while he had waited outside the gallery for her to go home tonight. Peter had already yelled at him, and he would probably yell at him some more tomorrow. If anything had happened to Elizabeth, that agent would be sharing a cell with Carol Rhodes right now.

But he would get a second chance tomorrow. Only Peter wasn't sure if he actually still cared about those photos. The way Elizabeth had talked about love and rule breaking had both scared and intrigued him further. And when her hair had glowed with a bluish tint and her eyes had looked like deep pools of moonlight, Peter had known that he could lose himself in her completely.

The FBI agent, the man, everything.

He had no idea what the right thing to do was at this point.

But if that woman wasn't the right one for him, then Peter Burke had never in his entire life more desperately wanted to do something wrong.


	5. I Love Italian

Witnessing two break-ins in one week had actually made Elizabeth paranoid. That was the only explanation as to why she kept looking over her shoulder and more often than not spotted a dark sedan following her. It was a nondescript car. There were hundreds like it in New York. And yet, Elizabeth couldn't shake the feeling that it was the same car.

It was outside her apartment building when she left in the morning. It was parked near the gallery when she left for her lunch break, and it was still there when she went home at night. Only to reappear outside her apartment when she went to bed. She could have sworn she even saw it outside that diner around the corner where she had met for breakfast with a friend.

Elizabeth got so wrapped up in that mystery that even her sister noticed. _"Lizzie, are you even listening to me?"_

She was taking the morning off and had decided to call her sister. But as she listened to Madeline complain about a particularly rebellious 9-year-old in one of her classes, Elizabeth had walked over to the window and gotten distracted when she had spotted that car again. "Yes, and I do think you'll get in trouble if you force a kid to chew and swallow the bubblegum he tried to stick under the table," she replied, trying to put together the pieces of what she had heard her sister talk about.

" _I guess so. But are you sure you're okay?"_ Maybe it was the teacher in her, but Madeline had always been good at reading people, even over the phone.

"Yeah, it's just… I might be going a little crazy," Elizabeth told her.

" _Isn't everyone in New York City crazy?"_ Maddie teased her. She was living in Upstate New York and had never understood why Elizabeth loved living in the city.

"Crazy enough to think that they're being followed?" Elizabeth wondered.

Her sister's tone sobered somewhat. _"You're being followed? That sounds serious, Lizzie. Maybe you should tell your special FBI friend."_

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, though her sister of course couldn't see. "I knew I shouldn't have told you about Peter."

" _Oh, it's Peter now? Do I get to meet him, too?"_ Just like that Maddie was back to teasing her.

"He hasn't even asked me out yet!" Elizabeth reminded her, and the exasperation in her voice had only partly to do with her sister.

" _Maybe he's married,"_ Maddie suggested. _"You did say he looked older than you."_

Elizabeth sighed. "No, I don't think so." Peter hadn't asked her out, but he also hadn't discouraged her from flirting with him. And she just knew in her heart that if he were married, he wouldn't do that to his wife.

" _Maybe he thinks_ you're _married."_ It was a joke, but the turn this conversation had taken got Elizabeth thinking.

"Hold on, Maddie, I need to get those binoculars Dad gave me for Christmas once."

" _Oh God, Dad is the worst gift giver,"_ Elizabeth heard her sister laugh on the other end before she put down the phone and dug out those binoculars from her closet.

Then she aimed them at the suspicious car outside her apartment building and got blinded by a sudden flash. Elizabeth put down the binoculars and blinked a couple of times before trying again. This time she spotted the man behind the wheel.

"The good news is I don't think it's a serial killer, unless he has a side job as an insurance salesman," Elizabeth informed her sister.

" _What's the bad news?"_ Maddie asked.

"I think he's taking pictures of me."

" _Seriously? Maybe you really should call the FBI, Lizzie."_

Elizabeth took one more look before she said, "I think this _is_ the FBI. I think I've seen that agent with Peter."

" _What? Are you saying your new boyfriend is spying on you?"_

"He's not my boyfriend…"

Because even though Elizabeth had given him every opportunity and Peter had kept mentioning his favorite Italian restaurant, he had never even asked her out on a date. Instead, he had now sent this other FBI agent to follow her. This had to be on Peter's orders because he was the lead investigator in the DeArmitt Gallery theft.

Was she actually a suspect? After what had happened with Carol, Elizabeth didn't see how she could be.

" _I told you. He thinks you're hiding a secret lover from him."_ It was all a joke to Maddie, but it actually made sense to Elizabeth – sort of, anyway.

In any case, she decided to let Peter know that she was on to him. In a way that hopefully only he would understand. Elizabeth said goodbye to a protesting Maddie and grabbed the biggest piece of paper she could find and a marker.

When it was time to leave for work, she got dressed and grabbed the sign she had drawn up. After leaving her apartment building, she stopped right outside the door and held it up. She laughed when she could practically feel how the agent took the photo.

" _Your move, Agent Burke,"_ she thought.

* * *

Carol Rhodes had in fact not rolled over on her boyfriend and had refused to give him up. Peter had needed all of his self-control not to think of Elizabeth right then and there in the interrogation. He wondered if it would make her happy to hear that she had been right about love being stronger than the deal they had offered Carol.

Peter still doubted that Carol's boyfriend would have done the same thing in her shoes. Maybe that made him a pessimist. But he had done this job for a while now. He was just being realistic.

Unless he was sitting in dark cars at night with Elizabeth. Then he suddenly felt like there was no law he wouldn't break for her. After all, he was already having her followed. The only question was if that was the kind of rule breaking she would find romantic – or creepy and possessive.

What she would definitely not appreciate was a failure to recover that stolen painting. So rather than keep thinking about the beautiful conundrum that was Elizabeth, Peter dug into Carol Rhodes' life and got warrants for her financial and phone records and for a search of her apartment. As loyal as she was to her boyfriend, she was no criminal mastermind, and it didn't take him long to find her partner anyway. Peter almost felt bad for her since she would have been better off taking that deal.

Taking down the boyfriend and discovering the painting in his secret hideout where he had been waiting to fence it, was almost too easy at that point. It was another win for Special Agent Peter Burke. When he pictured Elizabeth's face when she would learn that they were getting the painting back, it felt like the biggest win of them all. But when he realized that the case would be officially over by then and he would never see her smile again, it felt like he had never been dealt a more soul-crushing loss.

Back at his desk, Peter pushed all the paperwork aside and reached for the stack of surveillance photos he still hadn't gone through – both out of guilt and fear. But he was out of time and more than a little annoyed with himself. It only got worse when he started looking at the photos. These were surveillance pictures, not beauty shots, and yet, Elizabeth got more beautiful with every photo. More often than not, she had a smile on her face, a smile that was for no one in particular. It was simply how she went about her day.

It took Peter a while to realize that he was so mesmerized by her because there was no one else in the photos. There were other pedestrians, of course, coworkers, girlfriends, baristas, and neighbors. But no mystery man she was seeing or living with.

An incredulous smile was tugging at his lips when Peter got to the next photo and almost dropped it in surprise. In this one, Elizabeth was looking right at the camera. She must have made her tail. That goddamn rookie! By now, Peter had begun to realize how exceptionally smart Elizabeth truly was, but this shouldn't have happened. They were still the FBI. They didn't get made. But Elizabeth wasn't just looking at the camera, she was smiling and holding up a sign that read, "I Italian."

It seemed like a strange thing to write on a sign for the FBI, but that's because it wasn't for the FBI. It was for Peter. Had to be. He knew he had mentioned _La Cucina de Tua Nonna,_ his favorite Italian restaurant in the city, a couple of times and sort of left it hanging there every time because he couldn't follow it up with an actual invitation to go there. Elizabeth's sign could only mean that she was calling him on it. And not only that. Pushing him, really. Peter felt a little exposed and self-conscious, having never intended for Elizabeth to find out about the surveillance like this. But then he had another look at the photo and the smile on her face, and he knew it was time to do what he should have done days ago.

Peter wrapped up the investigation in record time, tying up loose ends, filing all the paperwork, and cutting through the red tape involved in releasing evidence. He had to pull a lot of strings on that one and grant more than a few favors to get it done. But after everything that had happened, he couldn't show up at the gallery empty-handed.

When he got there, he was glad to see that the DeArmitt Gallery was open again. He knew that would have come as a huge relief to Elizabeth. Hopefully, he could make her day even better. As to not disturb any visitors, Peter directed the two agents who had come with him to go around back to the delivery entrance while he headed straight for the receptionist desk.

To his surprise, Elizabeth was standing right there in a lovely cream-colored dress, bustling about with some papers and not noticing him right away. "Excuse me, I heard you were offering private showings as a reward for special services to the gallery and was wondering if you could point me towards the assistant manager in charge of this place?" he said boldly.

The smile on Elizabeth's face when she turned around was surprised but not unpleasantly so. Or so he hoped. "That depends. What kind of services are we talking about?" she asked lightly.

"If you'll sign for a special delivery at the back entrance, you could see for yourself," Peter replied, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. But closing a case had never felt this good.

Elizabeth's eyes lit up when she dared to hope that he was talking about the paintings. She quickly led him to the delivery entrance where the two agents were already waiting with the paintings. Elizabeth only glanced at them, though, before turning back to Peter. "Both of them?"

"Yes," Peter confirmed with a nod.

"You don't need them for the trial?"

"No. So you can go ahead and reframe them and put them back on display where they belong."

Elizabeth beamed. "That's wonderful. Mr. Sanders will be so relieved."

"He was already notified. Also, the Bureau advised him to increase his security and informed him that his assistant manager had been integral in closing this investigation," Peter told her. He hoped he hadn't overstepped with that last one. But it was too late now to stick to any sort of boundaries.

Elizabeth seemed caught off guard at first, but then her whole demeanor softened. "In the spirit of that successful cooperation, maybe you can tell me if there's any law I'd be breaking if I were to hug a federal agent?"

Peter quickly waved off the other two agents behind his back. They seemed a little confused as to where they were supposed to go, but then they seemed to get the hint. "No law that I'm aware of. But even if there were, I thought you considered rule breaking a viable option if the situation called for it," he reminded her of their conversation in the car once they were alone.

"But you didn't seem willing to agree with me," Elizabeth pointed out.

"That's because I felt bad for having done it already," he admitted.

Elizabeth raised both eyebrows. "Oh?"

Peter sighed, knowing it was time to come clean. "Elizabeth, putting you under surveillance was inappropriate. It had nothing to do with the investigation and everything to do with me... trying to find out if there was any point in asking you what I've been meaning to ask you."

Elizabeth looked hesitant at first, but then her smile was slowly growing larger, which gave Peter the courage to continue.

"I'm hoping you won't turn me in to my superiors and will have dinner with me instead. Since we both seem to love Italian."

Elizabeth laughed, and Peter wasn't sure what fascinated him more, the beautiful sound or the joyful sparkle in her eyes. Or when she opened those full lips to say, "I would love to."

Now that he had finally managed to ask the prettiest woman in all of New York City to go on a date with him, Peter felt that there was no more time to waste. "Tomorrow night?" he asked.

Also, he didn't want to lose his nerve. He wasn't big on dating, and now that the investigation was over, he was operating without a safety net for the first time. There was a frightening number of ways he could screw this up.

Not putting it off any longer seemed to have been the right choice, though, because Elizabeth looked positively surprised. "Pick me up at eight. Since I know you know where I live."

Peter smiled. "I will," he promised her.

He was already counting every minute.

* * *

 **A/N: Big first date coming up! I might even be posting it later this weekend. Hope you enjoy!**


	6. La Cucina de Tua Nonna

**A/N: I re-watched "Veiled Threat", which is one of my favorite episodes, and it inspired me to finish this chapter early. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

She had been hoping they would get to do this for days, and yet Elizabeth still didn't know what to wear. She also didn't know where Peter would take her, but if it wasn't that infamous Italian place he'd been talking about, she would be more than a little surprised. The question was if it was more of a fancy place or a feel-right-at-home kind of place. Knowing Peter, Elizabeth was thinking the latter.

Of course, she didn't really know Peter. Not yet. She was really hoping to change that.

In the end, she picked a dress that made her feel both comfortable and beautiful. It was of a rich midnight blue, that she knew highlighted her eyes, slim at the waist, and ended just above her knees. She wrapped a black scarf around her shoulders to cover the dress' plunging neckline a little bit. Once she had let her hair down and put on her high heels, it was almost eight.

And Peter rang her doorbell right on time. Elizabeth had a feeling that he had been waiting outside to do that, which brought a smile to her lips even before she went to answer it. When she did open the door, her smile widened. Peter was wearing dark pants and a shirt that was of a dark blue, almost as if they had meant to color coordinate. Funnily enough, it brought out his eyes just as well. He had a jacket on, but no tie, yellow or otherwise. It made him look smart and casual, and very handsome.

He took a moment to take her in as well, his eyes travelling all over her body, but in a way that was admiring – with just the right amount of suppressed desire mixed in. Elizabeth had no intention of going there on their first date, but it felt good to know that she could make him want to. Just in case she changed her mind.

But as Elizabeth had expected, Peter presented himself as more of a traditional gentleman. "Hello, Elizabeth. You look beautiful tonight," he said and handed her a bouquet of flowers. It was small but thoughtfully arranged, which made it sweet rather than cheesy.

"Thank you, Peter," she said, accepting the flowers. And since they were now finally free of the confines of the investigation, she stretched a little to give him a quick hug. His arms slid around her waist easily, and the warmth of his hands soaked through the fabric of her dress just as she got engulfed in his scent. Elizabeth took it as a good sign that she wouldn't have minded staying that way a little longer.

But she made herself step back again. "You cleaned up very nice yourself," she said, tugging slightly at the collar of his shirt that was free of any tie.

He knew what she was referring to right away. "I thought I would play it safe tonight," he joked.

Elizabeth chuckled and moved aside. "I'll just put these in water real quick. Please come in."

Peter took a rather hesitant step inside and then stopped.

"Is something wrong?" Elizabeth asked.

"No, it's just most of the time I get to enter new apartments by way of a search warrant," Peter replied.

She couldn't help but frown a little. "You don't get to go out much, do you?"

Peter cringed. "No, I guess not."

Not meaning to put him on the spot, Elizabeth shrugged. "Well, feel free to have a look around. No search warrant needed."

She went into the kitchen to get a vase for the flowers. She set them on the table in the living room and found Peter studying a few of the pictures on the shelves. "I take it this is your sister, the elementary school teacher?" he asked when she came to stand next to him.

"Did your sharp FBI investigator instincts tell you that?" Elizabeth teased him a little.

"That and the fact that you two have the same nose and cheekbones," Peter replied.

He must have really been studying her face a lot to have made that observation. Or maybe it really was part of his FBI training. But Elizabeth didn't think that's all it was. "Yes, we both take after Dad. Do you have siblings?"

"Nope, only child," Peter said and after a short pause seemed to decide to volunteer a little more information. "It's been just me and my Dad for most of my life."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Elizabeth said softly, stepping closer, leaving it up to him if he wanted to talk more about what had happened to his mother.

"My mother died of cancer when I was still a teenager. So it's been a long time now. And I didn't mean to lead with that," Peter said a little chagrined.

"She still raised a good man," Elizabeth told him, letting him know that he didn't need to be sorry about that. "The flowers are lovely."

Peter glanced at the table. "As is your apartment."

"Thanks. Shall we get going then?"

He nodded and helped her into her coat. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger door for her before circling round to the driver's seat. Yes, his mother had definitely raised him right. Elizabeth felt a twinge of sadness that she wouldn't get to meet her. If that's where their future was headed.

For now, they made their way to the restaurant. It was named _La Cucina de Tua Nonna,_ and it was exactly the kind of restaurant Elizabeth had thought Peter would like. It wasn't too big, which gave it a feeling of intimacy, and the booths and tables were of a dark wood that contrasted well with the red and white checkered table cloths and the elegant white candles on every table. The music in the background was soft and not too cheesy. No lyrics about undying love or bleeding hearts. It felt like a special place, but also like you could feel right at home.

"So this is the famous Italian restaurant I've been hearing so much about," Elizabeth joked when they had sat down in the corner booth Peter had reserved for them.

"Yeah, you like it?" he asked with a bit of hope and worry mixed in there at the same time.

"It certainly looks nice. I can't say anything about the food yet, but I hear the Fettucine Alfredo is very good."

Peter laughed. "It is, but so is everything else."

"You come here a lot?" Elizabeth asked, trying not to wonder how many other women he might have brought to this very booth.

"When I don't work through lunch or after closing an important case," he replied, leading her right back to his work rather than any sort of scandalous private life.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She should have known. "Why did you become an FBI agent?"

"Starting right with the big ones I see," Peter sidestepped her question.

She shrugged. "I feel like you know a lot more about me than I do about you."

"I don't. I mean yes, I looked into you during the investigation, and I saw the surveillance photos. But I didn't mean to make you feel like I've invaded your privacy…"

"Peter, I didn't say that I didn't want you to know those things. I just want to know more about you, too," Elizabeth interrupted him before he could get worked up about what he had done. Sure, it had felt a little strange to think about how Peter had looked at all those photos of her. But then again, she had never imagined that any man would go to such length just to ask her out. It was flattering in its own way.

The waiter arrived, and Peter ordered red wine for them. He did that without even asking her first, which she liked.

"It seemed like a job that would challenge me, keep me on my toes, and allow me to still do something good with my life, even if it wasn't what I'd planned," he then finally answered her question.

Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. Maybe she could be the FBI agent for once and investigate the mysterious Peter Burke. "What did you have planned?"

Peter looked as if he hadn't meant to say that part at all but realized that he now owed her an answer. "When I graduated college, I got drafted by the Minnesota Twins."

"You played professional baseball?" Elizabeth stared at him in amazement. She wasn't an expert on sports. But she got her baseball, basketball, and football teams straight, she even enjoyed the occasional Giants game, and she definitely knew that getting drafted on a professional level was a big deal.

Peter seemed just as amazed that she was this interested, but he hesitated with his answer. "I did. I played in the Minors. But two weeks into spring training, I tore my rotator cuff."

"Oh no, and you could never play again?"

"No, I could. Took three months to heal, but the doctors said that if I kept playing, there was a strong possibility that my next injury might be irreparable. I couldn't shake that. So I decided not to risk it."

Elizabeth could tell that he felt unusually vulnerable talking about this, talking about himself in general because he was used to asking the questions, not answering them. So she reached out for his hand. "That must have been a very difficult decision. But it sounds like you made the right choice. I would have liked to watch you play, though."

"Do you like baseball?" Peter asked while casually lacing his fingers through hers.

"I don't mind catching a game every now and then," she said distractedly. They were in a public restaurant. They hadn't even been here long. And yet holding hands seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

But their waiter returned with the wine, so they had to let go to raise their glasses to each other. "To making new plans," Elizabeth said.

"And making the most of them," Peter added before clinking glasses.

"Did you make the most of them?" Elizabeth asked after taking a sip of the wine. It was good, but not the best she had ever had. For certain private events at the gallery they served wine that one wouldn't usually buy on a government salary. "Are you happy at the FBI?"

"I have no regrets. Certainly not right now," Peter said. He might not be very good at flirting, but he definitely knew how to be charming. And that earnest smile of his did the rest.

"I bet you say that to all the female witnesses that you put under surveillance to ask them out," Elizabeth teased him. Part of her was fishing for anything to stop her from falling for this man. It had been slow at first, but by now she was picking up speed faster than she had any right to. She wasn't actually afraid of falling. She was afraid of hitting rock bottom again when she least expected it.

"Oh, all the time," Peter nodded, matching her tone. "In my line of work I meet dozens of beautiful assistant managers who are willing to hunt down the criminals who stole from them all by themselves."

Elizabeth smiled. It was the second time tonight that he had called her beautiful, but this time he hadn't said it like a compliment. He had said it like an irrefutable fact. "I see. Well, I must admit to liking a good Nancy Drew mystery."

"Maybe you should have thought about joining the FBI, too," Peter suggested with a wry grin.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I wasn't serious enough for that in college."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I was a business major and an art history minor and chose to hang out with the other art students, who didn't necessarily make studying their first priority."

"You were a party girl," Peter summed up her explanations.

Elizabeth bit her lip. "Yes, I suppose I was."

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Says the man who was probably on a full-ride sports scholarship and constantly maintained the necessary GPA," Elizabeth countered.

Peter didn't argue with that, but he said, "I was also a fraternity brother."

Elizabeth snorted. "No way."

"Why not?" Peter asked, not sure if he should feel offended or not.

"Because I can't picture Special Agent Peter Burke participating in fraternity initiation."

"I was still Peter Burke, future hall of famer, back then," he pointed out.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I still don't believe that you were ever willing to break the law at any time. Not even for a harmless prank."

"Did you?" Peter asked, sobering a little.

"Play pranks?" Elizabeth asked evasively.

"Break the law," Peter clarified.

She took another sip from her wine glass. "I'm not sure I should answer that without a lawyer present." When Elizabeth saw the almost terrified look on Peter's face, she laughed and put down her glass. "I got caught with a fake ID once." It was the less embarrassing story to tell and the one that probably wouldn't shock him too much since it was right out of his wheelhouse.

Peter relaxed visibly. "Where did you get it?"

"Friends of mine who knew some guy… who obviously didn't know what he was doing."

"Creating a fake ID that holds up under closer inspection takes a lot of knowhow and the right equipment," Peter nodded. "It's somewhat of an artform in itself, albeit an illegal one."

Elizabeth smiled. "I figured you would know about that. Though I don't think busting silly college girls is something you do very often."

"It's not, thankfully."

"Why did you choose to work in the White Collar division then?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm good with numbers and have an eye for detail."

"A jock and a nerd at the same time? You're full of surprises, Agent Burke," Elizabeth joked.

"Who said anything about being a nerd?" Peter tried to defend himself.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "What did you major in?"

"Math," he admitted.

"I rest my case," Elizabeth said with a wicked grin.

Peter leaned in closer. "And I suppose you would have never gone out with a nerd?"

"Of course I would have if one had ever asked me out," she replied, leaning in as well.

"They probably thought that you were out of their league," Peter surmised.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Is there such a thing really? I don't understand why social standing should dictate who we love."

"Because you believe that the heart wants what the heart wants," Peter reminded them both.

"And you don't," Elizabeth added.

"I didn't say I didn't believe in it. I said I believe that people break the rules because of it."

Their faces were as close to one another as the table between them would allow. "Did you?" Elizabeth asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Did I what?"

"Did you break the rules by surveilling me because your heart told you to?"

There was a short pause, long enough for her heart to beat in time with his.

"Yes," Peter replied simply but honestly.

And Elizabeth got the feeling that she might be falling for a long, long time.

Once again, their waiter arrived to break up their little moment. But the pasta he placed in front of them really did smell delicious.

They thanked him, and then they were both quiet while they tasted their respective pasta dishes. They were both fine with allowing the silence between them to settle for a bit. Peter seemed a little self-conscious about what he had just admitted. Elizabeth felt all tingly and butterfly-ish when she thought about it, which was why she decided to take a step back, too.

"This really is very good," she said, stabbing her pasta with her fork.

"I'm glad you like it." Peter smiled at her in relief. "Though I'm not sure if I should be offended by your tone of surprise."

Elizabeth returned his smile, hers apologetic. "I just wasn't sure if you had the time to sample a lot of restaurants with all the work you're doing."

"I don't, but part of my job is recognizing quality and weeding out forgeries," Peter pointed out.

"And we already know that you're very good at your job," Elizabeth nodded, but added in a more serious tone, "Peter, I really wanted to thank you again for recovering the paintings and for mentioning me to Mr. Sanders. I'm pretty sure he's never treated me with more respect."

Peter lowered his fork. "I didn't say anything to him that wasn't true, and you deserve all of it."

Elizabeth had never had a moment like this over two plates of fresh, steaming pasta. It was quite surreal because if this thing between them kept happening, she might not actually be able to eat anything.

She turned her attention back to the food. "Well, so do you. After all, you closed the case. How did you do it by the way? What happened to Carol? I mean, if you're allowed to tell me…"

Peter took a moment to chew on his pasta and probably also to think about what to tell her and maybe what not to tell her. "Actually, you were right about that, too. She refused to make a deal to turn in her boyfriend."

"Really?" Elizabeth wanted to smile, but the look on Peter's face stopped her. "I was only talking about hypotheticals. I didn't actually mean for her to make your job more difficult."

"It's not that. We caught him anyway, but she could have saved herself if she had taken the deal," Peter explained.

Now Elizabeth understood Peter's restraint. These were people's lives they were talking about. The responsibility was enormous. Elizabeth hadn't known Carol all that well, but she wouldn't have wished anything bad on her. "How long will she have to go to jail?"

"That part is up to the lawyers, but since she refused to take the deal, the DDA won't go easy on her."

"Did she say why she did it? The only thing I ever heard her talk about was becoming an actress," Elizabeth recalled.

"Then she should have stuck with that. She did have a decent poker face when I questioned her."

"You mean when you tried to convince her to turn in the man she loved."

"A man who already had a criminal record and who convinced her to become a criminal as well, simply because they hoped to make a lot of money," Peter amended.

"She didn't do it for the money," Elizabeth said, shaking her head.

Peter answered her observation with a frown. "What else did she stand to gain?"

Elizabeth gave him a soft smile. "Him."

They locked eyes, and Elizabeth could see that Peter wanted to object, but the argument seemed to die right there on his tongue. So Elizabeth continued, "I'm not saying that was the right choice, considering how things turned out for her. It's sad, really. Isn't it hard to face this kind of tragedy every day?"

"It's no tragedy, it's justice. People make their choices, and once they do, they have to own up to them," Peter said, and Elizabeth could tell that he believed very strongly in that.

Still, she asked, "Doesn't it matter at all why they did what they did?"

"Not to me."

"Really? You've never felt a certain connection with anyone during your cases? I mean, anyone who was actually involved in a crime," Elizabeth clarified since she wasn't looking for him to comment on what kind of connection the two of them were having right now.

"Some criminals are different than others," Peter admitted hesitantly. "But that doesn't change the fact that it's my job to catch them."

Personally, Elizabeth didn't see things as black and white, but she liked that he believed so strongly in doing the right thing.

"I realize that might sound callous," Peter continued. "But if you really want to do my job, you learn pretty quickly that you can't take any of it personally, can't let it get to you. It's too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Elizabeth put down her fork and leaned back. She knew that as an FBI agent Peter carried a gun, of course. But so far she had only thought about how that made her feel safe because he was keeping away the bad guys. She hadn't thought about how doing that might be dangerous for him or have the opposite effect, namely attract the bad guys in the first place. "How dangerous? Have you been hurt on the job before?"

She realized that was a very personal question, but she didn't regret asking it. She felt that this was something she needed to know, something essential for whatever might or might not be happening between them.

Peter seemed to understand that as well. "It's something that happens in my line of work. Everybody is well trained. It plays a big part in reducing the risks, but people aren't always predictable. I've never been in a serious incident, though. At the end of the day, the FBI protects their own – and their families."

Elizabeth smiled at that last part. She still didn't know how she felt about this. She had never been confronted with the need to worry about someone she cared about getting hurt at work on a daily basis. But she did know that she liked the way Peter had mentioned families – be it his family now or one that might be in his future – and it was enough to push aside the worry.

"Then here's to keeping it that way," she said, reaching for her wine glass and raising it to Peter.

He mimicked her gesture, but once he had put down his glass again, he said. "I'm sorry. I feel like we've only been talking about me since we got here."

"You're a very interesting man, Peter Burke," Elizabeth replied lightly, but she meant it, too. She did feel like she had a better understanding of who he was than before the night had started.

Peter still seemed determined to turn the tables. "Not nearly as interesting as you, Elizabeth Mitchell."

Elizabeth traced the rim of her now empty glass with her index finger. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, for starters, you're already an assistant manager, though you've said that you went through a little bit of an experimental phase in college. Something must have happened between then and now."

"Just life I suppose," Elizabeth said with a shrug. "Eventually you figure out that the pipe dream of having your own art studio won't pay the bills, that the wine never tastes as good the next morning, and that you should never put all your faith in frat boys – present company excluded, of course." She gave him another teasing smile.

Peter was entirely focused on her words, however, which was cute in its own way. "You wanted to own an art studio?"

"Not really. I was never that good. But a friend of mine was. She was supposed to supply the art, and I was going to run the business. You know, be our own bosses." Elizabeth shook her head. She hadn't thought about that in a while.

"That doesn't sound like a pipe dream to me," Peter said.

And she could tell that he meant it. He wasn't just telling her what he thought she would like to hear. "Maybe, but not being the one in charge isn't all bad. It also means that it's not your head on the chopping block when you lose a priceless painting."

"Temporarily misplace," Peter suggested with a grin.

Elizabeth laughed. "That sounds like something my sister would say."

"You two close?" Peter asked.

"Sort of. She lives upstate, and she hates New York City, so I don't get to see her all that much."

"Have you ever considered not living in the city?"

"No," Elizabeth said without hesitation. "I feel like I need to be in a place that's alive and exciting, where people dream big no matter whether they'll succeed or not."

Peter had an almost quizzical smile on his face.

"What?" Elizabeth prompted.

"I just had a feeling you would say something like that," he replied.

"Then I guess you already know everything there is to know about me," Elizabeth quipped.

Peter pushed his finished plate aside to lean forward again. "What I do know is that I would like to order another bottle of wine to find out."

And so they did. Elizabeth lost track of time while they sat in that corner booth and just talked about everything and nothing. Unsurprisingly, Peter was a good listener. While opening up about himself didn't come quite as easily to him, Elizabeth didn't feel like he was holding back either. Obviously, they both stayed away from any topics that might make the other uncomfortable. But there was no need, really. This, sitting here, drinking wine, talking, it was easy, effortless, as if they had been doing it for years.

Eventually, it got late, and they both agreed that it was time to leave. Not because they had tired of each other's company, but because the restaurant would close at some point, and Elizabeth was beginning to get a little stiff. Peter paid the check, and Elizabeth didn't object. She had a feeling that she would get to repay him sometime.

They walked back to Peter's car, and Elizabeth welcomed the chance to stretch her legs. The city at night was as vibrant as ever but a little cold as well. Elizabeth wondered if it was too soon to snuggle up to Peter for warmth. She was relatively sure that he wouldn't mind. The back of his hand had brushed against hers several times already.

But before she could decide, Peter noticed her shivering and shrugged out of his jacket. "Here, this should keep you warm," he said, gently wrapping it around her shoulders.

When the smell of his jacket hit her, Elizabeth forgot to tease him about how this move was straight out of every romance novel ever written. It smelled of a mixture of laundry detergent, cologne, and something that was uniquely Peter. In a strange way, it felt even more intimate than holding hands. Because right now, wrapped in Peter's jacket, engulfed in his scent, she was his and no one else's. Elizabeth knew he hadn't done it to stake a claim – not deliberately anyway – but she found that she wouldn't mind if he had.

Maybe those romance novel authors were on to something.

They both quieted down once they were back in the car and turned onto Elizabeth's street after a drive that felt way too short. They had been here before, but this time Peter stopped the car smoothly and then got out to circle round and open the passenger door for her again. His hand found the small of her back to gently guide her towards the front door.

The closer they got, the more Elizabeth realized that everything about this night had been perfect.

"Thank you, Peter. I had a lovely time tonight," she said once they had to stop, and gave him back his jacket.

"Me too. Does this mean I'm officially forgiven for putting you under surveillance?" Peter asked. Somehow his voice sounded huskier than it had before.

"There's nothing to forgive. I told you. I like a man to surprise me," Elizabeth replied, tilting her head up a bit so she could fully look into his eyes.

Peter met her gaze. Elizabeth bit on her lower lip, warmth fluttering inside of her, getting more impatient with every passing second.

Until Peter finally leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It was the most gentle of kisses, but it was enough to make the warmth inside of her pool at her very core. So Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Peter's neck, her fingernails scraping his skin. She could feel him shiver beneath her touch, and then he deepened the kiss. Elizabeth smiled approvingly against his lips.

When the kiss came to its natural close, Elizabeth hovered there on her doorstep. Part of her was tempted to ask Peter to come inside. But while kissing Peter had awoken that need, it had also made her realize that it might feel right in the spur of this wonderful moment, but that she wanted to do the right thing in the long run. She wanted the chance to see if this could be something long term.

"Good night, Peter," she breathed heavily.

"Good night, Elizabeth," he replied, slowly dropping his hands from her waist.

When Elizabeth entered her living room, the first thing she saw were the flowers Peter had brought her. She hadn't thought too much about it before. They had just marked the beginning of what would hopefully be a nice evening. Now, she was hoping that they were actually the start of a lot more than that.


	7. On the Ice

**A/N: And on to the second date as partly referenced on the show. I also used a couple of lines from the show between Peter and Neal because I thought it would be funny (and likely) that Peter was just passing on some 'advice' he had once been given himself. Maybe some of you will recognize it. Either way, thanks for the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

Kissing Elizabeth was the only thing he could think about. And the bank fraud case on Peter's desk did nothing to distract him. Quite the opposite really. The letters and numbers in the case file became blurred and got replaced by a vision of her.

God, she had looked so beautiful. She had never not been beautiful of course, but last night, when they had finally gone on that date and Peter had officially been allowed to take notice, she had looked even more stunning. And at some point, all of Peter's apprehension about not having a lot of experience in the dating department had just slipped away. Elizabeth had made him feel as if he didn't need to be anyone but himself. As a result, he was beginning to think that the best version of himself included being with her.

Then Peter felt like a lovesick fool and tried to remember that it had still been only one date.

Which was why he was going to make it two – today. He had no idea how long you were supposed to wait to call these days, and he didn't care either. At lunch time, he took a page out of her book and headed over to the DeArmitt Gallery. He realized he might be coming on too strong, but he was going to take that risk. He was only proposing lunch after all. Something to tide him over so he could maybe get some work done later.

Peter didn't feel the need to explain that to the new receptionist, and she didn't try to stop him when he introduced himself as an FBI agent. After all, what was waving his badge to get a lunch date compared to putting the woman he liked under surveillance?

Before he actually got to the offices, though, Elizabeth bumped right into him. Some of Peter's bravado left him when he noticed that she was obviously in a hurry and that she seemed to have something very different on her mind than kissing him.

"Peter! What are you doing here? Are there any more stolen paintings I don't know about?" Elizabeth asked. At least her eyes still lit up when she saw him.

Which encouraged Peter to answer truthfully, "No, I just wanted to ask you if you'd like to grab lunch with me?"

Elizabeth's stressed demeanor softened further, and she freed a hand from the stack of folders she was carrying to put it on his chest. "Oh, I would love to, but I can't. We've run a little behind on meeting with the vendors for the new exhibit opening. But I'm free tomorrow night."

"Ah, I have a previous engagement of sorts tomorrow," Peter replied, then he realized how dumb and potentially misleading that sounded and hurried to explain, "A couple of agents from White Collar and Organized Crime are playing hockey, like once a month."

Elizabeth's slightly confused expression turned into a smile. "Oh, well, can I come?"

"You want to watch me play?" Peter asked, surprised and a little caught off guard by her request.

"Sure, if I won't get to see you play baseball, I'll take hockey instead. Maybe you can even teach me afterwards. I always wanted to learn how to skate. It looks so beautiful."

Peter frowned, not sure if they were talking about the same sport. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that about ice hockey."

"Oh no, I meant figure skating. I love watching it on TV. But I'd love to watch your game, too."

The way she smiled at him didn't exactly help Peter to concentrate and think this through. He knew that the other guys sometimes brought their families, mostly their kids but also wives or girlfriends, to watch sometimes and to go on the ice after the game. But he wasn't sure if that was appropriate for a second date. Then again, if Elizabeth really wanted to come, if she wanted to have that second date, he didn't actually care about any of that.

"Game's at seven. I can pick you up half an hour earlier."

"Great, I'll see you tomorrow then." Elizabeth stretched a little to give him a kiss, more of a peck on the lips really, and then she was gone before Peter could hold on to her or that kiss.

So much for getting him to stop thinking about her all the time.

Tomorrow night couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

"How long have you been playing?" Elizabeth asked on their way to the hockey rink.

Peter had a hard time dividing his attention between her and traffic. She was wearing slim jeans, tall boots, and a vest over a cute red sweater. It was the sportiest look he had seen on her so far. Apparently, she had been serious about wanting to learn to skate. Peter wasn't sure about that part yet. But Elizabeth looked gorgeous in any outfit, and funnily enough, his team usually played in red jerseys, so once again they were a match.

"Since I was a kid. On-again, off-again," he replied.

"Baseball came first?" Elizabeth guessed.

Peter gave her a smile. It felt nice that she had made a point to remember that about him and could now make an educated guess like that. "It did," he confirmed.

"So how good are you? Obviously you've never played pro, but are you good enough to kick those Organized Crime guys' asses?"

Surprised by her competitiveness, Peter almost missed the right turn. "You really like to win, don't you?"

"Isn't that what it's all about in professional sports?" Elizabeth asked innocently.

"Well, this is just for fun," Peter said, but he couldn't hide a grin when he added, "A fun game that White Collar has won twice as often as Organized Crime."

Elizabeth laughed and put a hand on his knee. "That's what I like to hear."

Thankfully, Peter had just pulled into a parking space. He really needed to get out of this car. Just like the other night, he circled round to open the passenger door for her, but this time he deliberately planted himself in her way, so once she got out, she couldn't actually go anywhere, stuck between him and the car.

"I'm glad you wanted to come tonight," Peter said simply.

Elizabeth gave him a curious smile. "I'm hoping you'll impress me on that ice rink."

Peter looked from the smile on her lips to her bright blue eyes and then back to her lips, making sure he had permission, before he leaned in to kiss her. He started out slow again, but he had waited for this for two days, so his kiss quickly became urgent enough to push Elizabeth back against the car frame. Then Peter reined himself back in, not wanting to go too far.

But Elizabeth was still smiling when she asked, "What was that for?"

"Good luck," Peter replied, and when he finally stepped away from the car, he offered her his hand. If they were going to do this and show up together, they could just as well do it right.

Elizabeth didn't hesitate, and together they headed inside. As Peter had hoped, some of the other agents had brought their families, so he didn't have to leave Elizabeth sitting all alone in the stands while he went into the locker room to change.

"I take it you closed more than just the investigation then," Carl greeted him with a big grin, having seen them come in together.

"Shut up," was Peter's only reply, and he turned away to hide a grin of his own.

When they got out on the ice, Peter had to admit that things felt different. He had never realized that he wanted this – to have someone in the stands to look out for, someone who would take a special interest in how he played. It felt good.

It also made him nervous. What he loved about being on the ice was that he could let go of everything that went on in his life, which mostly meant work, and focus on nothing but the game. Tonight, though, he played with his focus split. When he lost the puck, he thought of what Elizabeth had said about wanting to be impressed. When he body checked another player, he worried about coming off as too aggressive. When he had the chance to score a goal, he cramped up, too focused on not missing to actually take a good shot.

Shortly before the end of the first period, they were down by two points and Peter got body slammed into the boards by a rookie on the Organized Crime team. After that, Peter was glad for the break. When he skated over to where Elizabeth was sitting, she jumped to her feet.

"Are you okay? I knew ice hockey was a physical game, but it never looked quite like this on TV," she said, eyeing him as if she were checking for serious injuries.

Peter dropped down on the bench next to her. "All part of the game," he shrugged it off. There was no chance in hell he was going to tell her how badly his shoulder throbbed.

Elizabeth seemed to suspect as much anyway and shook her head. "Maybe you should all choose a different game."

"Why?"

"Don't you see enough violence in your line of work?" Elizabeth wondered.

"Exactly. This is a way to work through all that. It's all in good faith," Peter tried to explain.

She thought about that for a moment. "In that case, you need to watch out for number 4. He's got it in for you. But ever since he checked your winger earlier, it looks like he's favoring his right knee. Maybe that's his weak spot. You should use that."

Peter couldn't keep a stupid grin off his face. "Anything else, coach?"

"Yes, I was promised a win, and I'd like my man to keep his promises."

Peter almost choked on the mouthful of water he had just taken from his bottle. "Your man?"

Elizabeth merely gave him the sweetest of all smiles. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No," Peter replied quickly. "But I think I might need more good luck."

She laughed before she willingly planted another kiss on him.

Honestly, if he had to choose between going back on the ice and staying here kissing Elizabeth, Peter's decision would have taken all of two seconds. But she had also reminded him how much he wanted to win this game. He wanted to win it for her as much as for the rest of his team. And he finally stopped worrying about what Elizabeth might be thinking.

So Peter went ahead and scored a goal for his team, cutting the other team's lead in half. Elizabeth had a proud smile on her face when she gave him a celebratory wave. Peter was pretty sure that no one had ever looked at him like that.

But when he scored another goal, bringing the game to a tie, Elizabeth was barely even paying attention. She was engaged in conversation with a woman Peter recognized as the wife of Marcus, who was playing goalie for them. In his surprise, Peter almost crashed right into Carl.

"Woah! What are you doing? I'm on your team, man!" he protested.

Peter mumbled an apology, his eyes still trained on Elizabeth. She glanced at him and smiled distractedly but otherwise seemed entirely focused on her conversation with Mary.

"Maybe you shouldn't have brought her if she messes with your head like that," Carl said, shaking his head.

"No, it's just… what do you think they're talking about?"

Carl looked at the two women and raised both eyebrows. "They're probably talking about shoes."

Peter frowned. "Really?"

"No, man, they're talking about you, of course." Carl laughed and patted him on the back. "You've got a lot to learn about women, my friend."

That's what he had been afraid of. "I barely even know Mary. What could she possibly be saying about me?"

"Depends. Have you been nice to Marcus lately?" Carl winked at him and skated away.

Peter didn't have time to think too much about that with the game resuming. He and Marcus were friendly but had never worked closely together. And he couldn't do anything about whatever Mary and Elizabeth were talking about anyway. All he could do was help his team win the game.

Thankfully, when they did win, Elizabeth was back to cheering for him. So Peter relaxed a little, especially when Elizabeth greeted him with a cheerful, "Nice win, Agent Burke."

"Thanks. We got a tip that number 4 of the opposing team had a bum knee." He winked at her.

All around them family members came onto the ice to skate a little as well. Elizabeth looked at him expectantly. Peter got her a pair of skates in her size and extended a hand to help her wobble from the bench to the ice after she had put them on. Then Peter let go so Elizabeth could stand on her own two feet on the ice for the first time. She looked almost as excited and apprehensive as some of the kids.

And then, he didn't know what happened. She was quite terrible at it. That was not a word Peter had associated with Elizabeth so far. Obviously, she had never done this before, and it was normal to need some time to get used to the skates and how it felt to move in them. But Elizabeth seemed to have no coordination or sense of balance. She was practically sprawled on the ice like Bambi. It was both adorable and a little terrifying.

Peter had no idea what to do about it. Helping her would likely include touching her. There was nothing he wanted to do more, but there were kids and fellow agents on the ice. Peter wasn't sure if he trusted himself enough around her. Ever since their first kiss, he felt like a drug addict, craving another fix.

Also, to tell her how to do better, he would have to criticize her, and he definitely didn't want to do that. Maybe he was a bit of a coward, but Peter thought he had a right to play it safe on their second date.

So he sort of hovered near her and made rather unhelpful comments every now and then, until Elizabeth tried to make a turn that almost had her crashing into the ice. Peter caught her just in time but only by pulling her body very tightly against his. After he had righted them both, he knew he should have let go. Instead, he intertwined his fingers behind Elizabeth's back and held her to him, trying not to go crazy at the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest. She was so soft and so beautiful with her cheeks flushed from the fall, there was no way he could have resisted the urge to kiss her.

Elizabeth had held on to him tightly at first, scared of hitting the ice, but the longer their kiss lasted, the more Peter could feel her relax in his arms. She trusted him to keep her safe. It only made him want to kiss her more.

Someone cleared their throat while skating past them, which finally caused them to break apart. At least their lips did. Peter wasn't letting go of her – and not just because the woman was a safety hazard on the ice.

"If that's how you teach someone how to skate, I would have signed up a long time ago," Elizabeth joked.

"It only works in special cases," Peter replied.

"Yeah? What kind of cases?" Elizabeth asked with a teasing smile.

"The ones where the teacher can't take his eyes off his student."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Sounds like it's a good thing you're not actually a teacher."

"Right, because I'm an FBI agent who just won a hockey game. So can I buy you a drink to celebrate?"

"Sure."

Glad he had convinced her to get off the ice, Peter showered and changed in a hurry before walking with Elizabeth to a sports bar across the street. It wasn't as nice as the Italian place, but it was closest, which was why they sometimes got drinks here after a game.

Elizabeth seemed fairly interested in some of the memorabilia on display, though that might have been for his sake, since Peter was happy to explain all of it to her. When the bartender asked them what they would like to drink, Peter hesitated. He had no idea if the wine was any good here.

"What do you usually have?" Elizabeth asked him straight.

"Just a beer," he answered truthfully. No use pretending that he had a more refined taste than that.

"Sounds good. I'll have one."

Peter furrowed his brow. "I thought you were partial to wine."

Elizabeth shrugged. "When in Rome…"

They brought their beers over to a table and sat. "So, I saw you talking to Mary earlier," Peter said because he was too curious for his own good.

"Oh yes, she was very nice. She said that the team has gotten a lot better since you joined. She and Marcus have been married for three years, so she's seen quite a number of these games. Their anniversary is next week. But you probably know all of that already." Elizabeth shrugged.

"Actually, I didn't," Peter admitted. "Maybe you should assist me in my next interrogation. You seem to have a knack for gathering a lot of information in a short time."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I probably asked very different questions."

"Like what?"

"Well, mostly we talked about what it's like to be an FBI wife."

Peter froze with his beer glass halfway to his mouth. He knew he should have let it go. What on earth was he supposed to respond to that? He couldn't even figure out what shocked him more – that she was worried about the pitfalls of being married to a federal agent or the fact that she was thinking about marriage at all.

His feeling of treading on quicksand only worsened when Elizabeth covered her mouth with one hand and still utterly failed to hide the fact that she was laughing.

"What?" Peter asked, finally managing to put down his glass.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but the look on your face just now was priceless," she explained in between giggles.

The dumbfounded expression on his face didn't get any better. Reading people was his job, but he had no idea what Elizabeth wanted from him right now.

Eventually, her laughter subsided, and she sounded serious again when she said, "Honestly, Peter, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious. Because from what I can tell, working for the FBI is such a demanding job, and I was wondering how best to be supportive."

That Elizabeth was worried about his job – not for her sake but for his – finally pushed all of Peter's insecurities aside and replaced them with more affection towards her than he knew how to express. "Well, I don't know anything about being an FBI wife either," he joked, eliciting another laugh from her. "But I think a smile like that is the only support that's needed."

"Just a smile, huh? No dinner on the table when the husband comes home?" Elizabeth teased.

"It's 1998. I've heard rumors that men have finally learned to cook for themselves."

Elizabeth's eyes gleamed. "Are you one of those men?"

Oh God, maybe he shouldn't have said that. "I do make a mean pot roast," Peter said the first and only thing that came to mind.

"Pot roast? That doesn't sound like something you make for just one person." The look on her face said that she was wondering if he had seduced other women with that particular skill, but Peter wasn't falling for that.

"That's because I used to make it with my dad. We'd have pot roast, drink beer, and watch a game. We still do when I have the time to visit."

Any suspicion was gone from Elizabeth's face, replaced by a bright smile. "That sounds lovely," she said. "Would you like to come over Saturday and cook something together?"

"At your place?" Peter asked as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yes, I don't have to work Sunday, so I thought it might be nice to stay in and have a nice dinner…"

Her suggestion trailed off there, and Peter had no idea if he should read anything into that. It didn't really matter since Elizabeth had definitely just invited him to spend what would be their third date in the rather intimate setting of her own apartment. No matter whether that implied anything or not, it meant he would get to see her again. Right now, that's all he cared about.

"Just tell me when to be there."


	8. Dogs and Jazz

Peter tried to catch his breath before he knocked on Elizabeth's apartment door. Today of all days, not just on a Saturday but on the Saturday of their dinner date, he had been called in to work to assist Hughes on an important case. He had been glad to do it, but now he was late, and Peter hated to be late. Plus, he had only managed to put on a fresh shirt before rushing over here. Otherwise, he was still in the pinstripe suit he had picked out for work this morning. It was one of his best suits, but he still would have preferred a more casual look. Most of all, he would have preferred not to be late.

When Elizabeth opened the door, the first words out of Peter's mouth were, "I'm so sorry I'm late. I got called in to work. But I brought this as an apology."

Elizabeth moved aside to let him in while she inspected the bottle of wine he had just handed her. "Wow, this is an expensive bottle. You've done your homework."

"Yeah," Peter nodded, relieved that she didn't seem to be mad.

But she looked up from the bottle and said, "This was confiscated by the FBI, wasn't it?"

Peter stared at her. "How did you know that?"

"You just had that look on your face." Elizabeth laughed.

"What look?"

"The 'I love the perks of my job' look."

Peter sighed. So much for impressing her. But he couldn't feel bad about the fact that she seemed to know him so well already. "I do love my job. And for the record, this is perfectly legal. My boss gave me that bottle for a job well done. We just closed a big case today."

"That's great! Congratulations," Elizabeth gave him a smile and a kiss. It had been a rather warm spring day, so she wore a purple dress with a black belt that accentuated her slim waist. She was barefoot, though, which made her look comfortable and pretty at the same time. "So what's the next step?" she asked on her way to the kitchen.

A little distracted by the feeling of her soft lips – he still hadn't gotten used to her kisses and the effect they had on him –, it took Peter a moment to follow her and process her question. "What do you mean?"

"I saw your desk, and then I saw those big glass offices. They looked a lot nicer," Elizabeth said. "No offense."

"None taken. One of those would definitely be nice. My own office. My own team. Eventually, there's the ASAC job, which stands for Assistant Special Agent in Charge, and then we'll see…" Peter trailed off. Washington had always been a dream of his, but now he felt like he was looking at a new dream. One he hadn't even dared to think about.

Elizabeth smiled. "Well, you should definitely take good care of that nice suit if you want to be the boss one day. Do you want to hang up your jacket before we get started on dinner?"

"Yes, good idea," Peter nodded. He shrugged out of his jacket and saw Elizabeth's eyes widen when she spotted his gun. "I'm sorry," he said again. He sounded like a broken record. "Like I said, I came directly from work."

"No, it's fine. It's part of your job," Elizabeth said graciously, but her eyes were still drawn to the weapon. "I just never had one in my home before."

"It's perfectly safe," Peter assured her. "I'll just leave it in the hallway with my jacket." He did, but when he returned to the kitchen, Elizabeth still had that look on her face. "It's okay. You can ask."

"What?"

"If I have ever shot someone."

This time it was Elizabeth's turn to cringe. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"It's fine, and the answer is no, not fatally anyway," Peter told her.

Elizabeth was visibly relieved, but she said, "That must be a terrible responsibility."

"It is, but we get well trained for it at Quantico."

"You'll have to tell me about that sometime, but first, I think we deserve a beer." Her mood brightening, Elizabeth opened the fridge and set two bottles on the kitchen counter.

"Do you always happen to have cold beer in your fridge?" Peter asked, smiling curiously. And not just any beer. The kind he had told her the other night that he liked. "Because you didn't have to get that just for me."

Elizabeth just smiled back at him. "I thought if you didn't want it, I would find another handsome FBI agent who would."

"Yeah? How many handsome FBI agents do you know?" Peter asked, moving closer.

"Just one I care about," Elizabeth replied, her eyes twinkling.

"And how handsome is he exactly?" Peter asked, pinning her against the kitchen counter.

"Very," was Elizabeth's only answer before he had to kiss her again.

Before they could end up on the kitchen counter or knock down those beer bottles, Elizabeth ended their kiss and lightly pushed him away. "Easy now, tiger. Dinner first. And you can get started on the salad."

Peter's thoughts snagged on the 'first', but then he obediently rolled up his sleeves. Elizabeth had decided to make some elaborate pasta dish with salmon and a fancy cream sauce. Peter simply followed her instructions and wouldn't have cared about the food either way. He did notice, however, that she seemed to know her way around a kitchen. Or at least, she would have if it hadn't been for him. Because they kept bumping into each other or touched hands for too long when they both reached for the same knife at the same time.

"I feel like I'm just slowing you down," Peter said with a lopsided grin after another near-collision that he hadn't tried to avoid in the slightest.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Cooking isn't about getting it done as fast as possible. Unless you have somewhere else to be tonight?"

That teasing smile of hers did nothing for Peter's self-control. And leaving was the last thing on his mind right now. Not tonight and not ever. "Oh no, I'm not going anywhere." He had intended to match her light tone, but it came out more like a promise. Too afraid to let those words settle between them, Peter hurried to add, "Certainly not before I get to taste this. Do you cook often?"

"I try to, when there's an occasion anyway. I find it relaxing. It's like you're in your own little world where you can try anything you want and you can make your own rules. But it's a lot more fun when you get to share the results," Elizabeth replied and nudged him with her shoulder.

All the while, she had a big, beautiful smile on her face. She had pulled up her hair into a messy ponytail, and still Peter couldn't imagine that he would ever get tired of admiring her.

This was it. Right here. This was what he wanted to come home to every night. He just hadn't realized it before. He hadn't realized he could be this happy just talking to her, looking at her, _being_ with her.

It shouldn't have been possible to feel like this after only two weeks. And yet, another glance at Elizabeth assured Peter that it was entirely possible.

"In that case, your sous-chef is ready for his next task," he joked to stop himself from saying any of that out loud.

Elizabeth laughed, and Peter was pretty sure he had never enjoyed himself more while standing in a kitchen for up to an hour.

When dinner was ready, they sat down at the table in the living room where Elizabeth lit a candle next to the flowers he had brought her on their first date. They were beginning to wilt, but Elizabeth still hadn't thrown them out. Yet again, Peter wished he hadn't been late and had remembered to buy her new ones. At least he had brought the expensive wine of which he poured them both a glass. He hoped it was as good as advertised.

But Peter was even more curious about the food. "This is great," he said approvingly after having taken his first bite.

"I would say thank you, but it was a team effort," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Then I'd say we make an excellent team," Peter replied.

Elizabeth's answering smile was dazzling as she reached for her wine glass and said, "To us then."

Peter clinked glasses with her without daring to say anything else.

"Mhm, tell your boss you don't need the office. He can just keep paying you with wine like this," Elizabeth joked after setting down her glass.

"I'll let him know," Peter nodded with as much faked sincerity as he could muster.

"This just tastes like any other wine to you, doesn't it?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter shrugged. He didn't really know what to say to that. "It's not bad…"

Elizabeth chuckled. "That's a no for going wine tasting then."

"I'm sorry. I guess I don't have a very fine palate," he admitted.

"Oh no, I just have a bit of an obsession with good food. There's nothing I hate more than a black-tie event where everybody's starving because there's only bad cocktail shrimp to eat."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"We may or may not have had the misfortune of hiring a couple of really bad caterers for some of our exhibits," Elizabeth nodded.

"Then maybe you should cook next time," Peter suggested.

Elizabeth smiled but shook her head. "That's sweet, but I'm nowhere near that good. But I do believe in only serving the kind of food you'd like to eat yourself."

"No cocktail shrimp then."

With a piece of salmon on her fork halfway to her mouth, Elizabeth paused. "Don't tell me you don't like sea food!"

"No, that's not what I meant. I told you this is delicious…" Peter hurried to reassure her.

"Are you sure? You really don't have to lie to me just to…"

"I would never lie to you, Elizabeth," he interrupted her. He knew he sounded dead serious because he was. He had no idea how a conversation about shrimp had led them to this, but he couldn't let her doubt his intentions. "Unless you ask me to tell you that there's anything about this night, this dinner, or you that's not absolutely perfect, because it is."

Peter held his breath for a moment, not sure if she believed him or if he had come on too strong.

Elizabeth was perfectly still, except for the light of the candle that danced in her deep blue eyes. "Careful, Agent Burke," she said eventually, a smile blooming on her beautiful face. "We haven't even had dessert yet. You don't want to run out of compliments." Her joke lightened the mood between them, but Peter could tell from the soft blush to her cheeks that his words had affected her.

He let it go, glad to return to a lighter conversation until they were done with dinner and Elizabeth assured him that they could just leave the dishes for now. Instead, they settled next to each other on her couch with the remaining wine, and Elizabeth put on some music.

"What's that?" Peter asked after listening for a moment.

The look on her face told him that this was almost as bad as him not appreciating a good wine. "You don't recognize one of the greatest kings of jazz? Satchmo? Louis Armstrong?"

"Oh, of course, I've heard of him," Peter nodded.

"Heard of him?" Elizabeth echoed disapprovingly.

Peter decided to go on offense this time. "Do you know who Babe Ruth is?" he asked.

He watched as she racked her brain for a musician with that name. "No," she finally had to admit. "Who's that?"

"One of the greatest outfielders who ever played for the Yankees," Peter answered with a grin.

"So he's a baseball player? Then what does he have to do with this?"

"I could argue that me never having listened to Louis Armstrong is just as outrageous as you not knowing who Babe Ruth is."

Elizabeth's frown turned into laughter. "Fair point."

"So, I take it you like jazz?"

"Of course, I do. People who don't like jazz just don't know any better," she said.

Peter smirked.

"What?"

"You're a fangirl. It's cute," he told her.

Elizabeth huffed. "Puppies are cute. I'm serious about jazz."

"So you like dogs and jazz," Peter noted.

"And now you're about to tell me that you're a cat person?"

Peter made a face. "Nope, definitely not a cat person."

"Why not?" Elizabeth asked, sensing a story there.

"I had to catch one at a crime scene once because it was destroying all the evidence. It ruined one of my best suits and scratched me up like a pin cushion."

Elizabeth set down her wine glass so she wouldn't spill any of it in the midst of her resounding laughter.

"I'm glad my pain amuses you," Peter said, quirking an eyebrow.

She stopped laughing, leaned in, and gave him a soft but lingering kiss. "I'm sorry you had to go through that traumatic experience."

His lips tingling, Peter grinned. "I feel better about it already."

They fell silent, allowing the moment to settle, both with smiles on their faces.

"Peter, can I ask you something?" Elizabeth had her legs tucked under her and her body angled towards him.

He could tell from the look in her eyes that she was not going to ask about sea food, pets, or his taste in music this time. Still, he said, "Of course. Anything."

"I know you're very focused on your work, but there must have been someone important in your life before?"

The question caught Peter off guard, but he had promised not to lie, so he nodded. "There was."

"What was her name?" Elizabeth pushed.

"Jill." Peter felt uncomfortable talking about another woman. But Elizabeth's curious eyes didn't leave him, and she didn't say anything else either. She just waited him out. So Peter suppressed a sigh and volunteered more information. "We met at Quantico."

Elizabeth looked surprised. "She was an FBI agent, too?"

"Not yet. None of us were. We were just starting out, and I wasn't even sure if I could make it." Peter didn't know what had made him say that. He had never admitted that to anyone. But he not only did not want to lie to Elizabeth. He didn't want to hold anything back either.

Her eyes glistened and her voice was gentle when she asked, "Why not?"

"Not everyone makes it at Quantico, and they remind you of that at every turn. And there are a lot of recruits who've been with the military or with the police before joining the FBI. I had an accounting degree and had played some Minor League baseball, that was it. Jill, she was at the top of our class, and she challenged me to be better as well. So that's what I did, and I finished Quantico way higher than I ever thought I would."

Now, Elizabeth smiled softly, perhaps even proudly. "What happened?"

Peter shrugged. "After Quantico she went to California, I came to New York."

"Just like that?"

He tried very hard not to squirm. The truth was he didn't really know. Jill had been the one to run first. He just had decided not to follow her. "We had different ideas about what we wanted our future to look like. Jill chose hers. She had gotten a great offer. It wasn't my place to hold her back."

Elizabeth didn't say anything else, but she reached out to hold and squeeze his hand. So he must not have failed whatever sort of test this had been. Which gave Peter the courage to turn the tables on her. After all, he had been curious about this from the very beginning.

"What about you? Who's the guy for whose sake I didn't ask you out right away, though he didn't even exist?" he asked her.

She didn't hesitate to answer, but her eyes turned sadder, which almost made Peter regret asking. "His name was Josh, and it was my fault, really."

"How so?" he asked, not believing her for a minute.

"He was never the kind of guy who could say yes to one girl and then actually say no to all the other pretty girls who still crossed his path every day. So I shouldn't have been surprised when he cheated on me with one of his female clients. I had just deluded myself into thinking that I could change him, that we had something special. But I guess I wasn't special enough."

"You're kidding, right?" Peter asked without even thinking about what he was saying. He just couldn't let that stand or, even worse, have her believe it. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And if he didn't realize that, then he's an idiot. Because it seems to me that it's quite impossible not to love you."

His words hung in the air between them for a couple of heartbeats before Elizabeth leaned in, took his face in her hands, and kissed him. With them sitting side by side, the angle was a little awkward, but before Peter could even think to move, Elizabeth had already climbed onto his lap. With her legs pressed to his sides and her hands in his hair, Peter needed no further encouragement to deepen the kiss and let his hands travel down the length of her back, his fingers deliberately grazing the swell of her breasts.

It was Elizabeth, though, whose hands started tugging on his shirt first.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, breathing heavily. God, he wanted her so badly, he could barely think straight, or keep the evidence of his physical need hidden for much longer. But he also wanted to do right by her, even if it meant that he had to keep suffering every minute they weren't touching.

"Are you going to break my heart?" Elizabeth asked in return, her hands momentarily stopping their work of unbuttoning his shirt.

"I would never," Peter said gravely. He would rather rip out his own heart and set it on fire. And then he would go and find that Josh guy and do the same to him.

"That's why it's been yours to take since you walked into my gallery," Elizabeth whispered.

That was it. The last ounce of Peter's self-control evaporated when his own heart swelled in his chest. His world suddenly consisted of nothing but her – her striking blue eyes and full lips, her soft fingers, running enticing circles on his chest, her warm thighs pressed against his sides, bringing their bodies to meet intimately but not intimately enough, with too many layers of clothes still in between them. He wanted to explore every inch of her that he had only been able to admire from a distance so far.

Peter quickly rose to his feet with Elizabeth holding on to him by wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He hadn't been in her bedroom before, but the door was slightly ajar so he knew where it was. He kicked the door fully open now, carrying Elizabeth to her bed.

When he had gently set her down, she pulled him right down with her and on top of her, continuing with her task of getting rid of his shirt and then the T-shirt underneath. Peter didn't know why he had thought that wearing so many clothes would be a good idea. He gladly obliged her by raising his arms so she could pull the T-shirt over his head. Elizabeth's hands on his fully clothed body had felt good, but the feeling of her fingers roaming across his naked chest set every nerve in his body aflame.

He was eager to return the favor, so in between kisses that became increasingly urgent, Peter found the zipper of her dress. It didn't take long until she was laid bare in front of him, body and soul alike. Or at least that's how it felt to Peter. The urge to bury himself inside of her was very real, but it was more than that. He wanted it to be more than that.

Elizabeth was undeniably beautiful. The sight of her naked skin, her full breasts, and slender waist took his breath away. His gaze travelled up the entire length of her body, all the way from her toes to where her long legs met at her center and invited him to become a part of her. And Peter wanted to. He wanted to be a part of her in every way. That she was completely open to him right now, that she trusted him that way, it touched something deep inside of him. And that was even more beautiful than he could fully comprehend.

So when they were as close as they could possibly be as their bodies finally merged, there was not a single word for Peter to describe how it felt to be inside of her. His senses were overwhelmed, being filled to the brim and still not nearly having enough. And Peter thought he understood for the first time what making love truly meant.

* * *

The next morning Peter couldn't shake the feeling that he was still dreaming. First, it had taken them a good long while to actually get out of bed, and now he was watching Elizabeth in the kitchen, who was wearing nothing but his shirt. That explained why he hadn't been able to find it earlier and was now leaning against the kitchen counter in his suit pants and white T-shirt.

But Peter didn't mind when his shirt looked so much better on her. The late morning sun coming in through the window set Elizabeth's hair and face aglow, and her almost unearthly beauty didn't make it any easier for Peter to convince himself that this was real. He was well aware that the hormones from last night and this morning that were still raging through his body were making him think and act as if making love to Elizabeth was his only purpose in life. But he didn't care. When Elizabeth reached for two cups on a higher shelf and his shirt rode up, exposing her long legs almost all the way, he pushed off the counter, about to reach for her and pull her back into the bedroom. He really didn't need any breakfast as long as he could devour her instead.

There was a knock on the apartment door that stopped them both in their tracks. Elizabeth looked surprised, which told Peter all he needed to know. "Are you expecting someone?" he asked anyway.

"Not that I know of," she replied and headed for the door.

The FBI agent in him had Peter follow her into the hallway. Elizabeth looked through the peephole and then, without giving any thought to her current state of undress and before Peter could stop her, she just opened the door.

"Maddie!? What are you doing here?" she asked as she pulled a woman Peter recognized from the photos in the living room into a hug.

"I think the better question is: What are you wearing? Or should I ask _who_ are you wearing?" her sister replied after stepping back out of Elizabeth's arms and closing the door behind her.

Since there was no threat here, Peter had relaxed at first, but now that Madeline Mitchell fixed him with a scrutinizing glare, he stiffened again.

Clearly sensing his unease, Elizabeth walked over to him, kissed him lightly on the lips, and then took his hand. "Maddie, this is Peter. Peter, meet my sister Madeline, who apparently doesn't own a phone to call ahead first."

Peter cleared his throat. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise. It would be nicer if it weren't so obvious that you just had sex with my sister, but I'll let it go. Because this is nothing compared to how awkward this is going to get when Mom and Dad show up here in about five minutes," she replied.

Now it was Elizabeth who froze next to him while Peter hadn't even fully processed the news. "What?"

"They showed up at my doorstep unannounced yesterday. They wanted to surprise me and had booked a flight without telling me. And since I knew what they didn't, namely that you had the weekend off too, I suggested that we should come down here today to include you in this fun family weekend. They are parking the car right now," Madeline explained with a wry grin. "So if I were you, I'd put on some pants or any sort of clothes, really, that are actually yours."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry to leave you like this, but I hope you're excited for Peter meeting the Mitchells for the first time. :)**


	9. How (Not) to Meet the In-Laws

Without another word, Elizabeth turned around and disappeared into her bedroom. Madeline gave Peter a pointed look before she made herself at home in the living room. Since things couldn't get much worse between him and Elizabeth's sister, Peter decided to ignore her for now and followed Elizabeth. She had closed the bedroom door behind her, so he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to barge in like this. But after last night, he wasn't interested in keeping up any more boundaries.

Elizabeth seemed completely focused on her parents' imminent arrival. When she pulled his shirt over her head, the sight of her beautiful exposed body once again took Peter's breath away.

But he managed to pull himself together enough to ask, "What do you want me to do, El?" He didn't know where the nickname came from, it just rolled off his tongue.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I had no idea they were going to do this," Elizabeth replied distractedly as she looked for something to wear. "My parents won't be here for another few minutes. You can still leave."

Peter just stood there, dumbfounded. "Do you want me to leave?"

Clad in only a bra and panties now, Elizabeth paused in her frantic search for more clothes to look at him. "Do you want to stay?"

The truth was that Peter had never been less prepared for a meet and greet with the parents. He was wearing a slightly wrinkled T-shirt from yesterday and his mind was filled with nothing but images and sensations from last night, from having sex with their daughter. But he was willing to do anything for Elizabeth right now. Anything, except to simply abandon her.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do, El. But I don't want to sneak out of here as if we've done something wrong. Because for me last night felt more right than anything else in my life."

Some of the tension in Elizabeth's shoulders eased, and it was replaced by a beautiful, loving smile. She walked up to him and stood on her toes to give him a kiss. Peter's hands automatically went around her waist, the feeling of her naked skin underneath his fingers making him wish they could just lock the door.

"If you're sure you want to do this, I'd love for you to stay," Elizabeth said.

Peter's answering smile faded a little when Elizabeth stepped back out of his arms to finish getting dressed and he noticed his shirt that she had thrown on the bed. It was almost as wrinkled as the rumpled sheets. While it had looked unbelievably sexy on Elizabeth this morning, on him it would look like he didn't own any clean clothes. So he decided to leave it and simply grabbed his jacket and put it on over his T-shirt.

When he got back to the living room, a now fully dressed Elizabeth was in the midst of some last minute cleaning up while her sister lounged on the couch. Peter had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he didn't get the chance to ask before Elizabeth's parents were at the door.

He simply stayed where he was and listened to Elizabeth greeting them in the hallway.

"Mom, Dad! Come on in. I wish you would have told me you were coming."

"We wanted to surprise you," her mother answered brightly. "Especially when Maddie told us that you had the weekend off. You always work so hard."

"Because I love to work, Mom," Elizabeth reminded her.

"As you should. You know we're proud of you. We just wanted to see our girl," her father spoke for the first time.

Peter wiped the palms of his hands on his pant legs.

"I hope this isn't an unwelcome surprise," her mother added.

"Of course not. I just might have a surprise of my own," Elizabeth said hesitantly.

"Oh really? What is it?"

Elizabeth didn't answer because she now led her parents into the living room. Peter stood ramrod straight when all eyes immediately went to him. Elizabeth's mother was a short, blonde woman with a kind face and an open smile. Her father on the other hand was tall. He had dark hair that was beginning to turn grey in places and Elizabeth's striking blue eyes, only his seemed a lot colder.

"Mom, Dad, this is my… Peter. Peter Burke," Elizabeth said, walking over to him and taking his hand, just like she had done when she had introduced him to her sister. Only this time she avoided looking at him when she stumbled over what to call him. Peter smiled to himself. He was perfectly fine with being 'her Peter.'

Then he remembered that he should focus on her parents. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell," he said, and he tried to go for an easy smile as he extended a hand.

Elizabeth's parents exchanged a surprised look. Her mother was the first to react and shake his hand. "Oh, it's nice to meet you, too, Peter. And Tina is fine."

Peter nodded and was about to offer his hand to Mr. Mitchell, but he crossed his arms and didn't say anything. He just stared at Peter.

The awkward pause that followed was broken by Elizabeth. "Why don't you sit down? I was just about to make some coffee."

"Sounds good. I'll help you, sweetie. I just need to use the bathroom first. It's been quite a long drive," Tina said, and to Peter's slight horror, Elizabeth and her mother both left the room, leaving him alone with Mr. Mitchell and his elder daughter, who so far hadn't been very helpful.

"Are you two going to sit or are you just going to stand there and stare at each other all day?" she said now.

El's father still didn't say anything, but he slowly settled in an armchair. Peter also took a seat, the one that was farthest away from him but still directly in his line of sight. And Mr. Mitchell kept staring. Peter had stared down suspects in interrogations before without batting an eye. But he had been in control of the situation then. Right now, he had no idea what to do. It was unnerving.

"So… Peter," Mr. Mitchell finally said, his voice suspiciously calm, "how long have you been seeing my daughter?"

"Not… not long," Peter replied evasively. It was completely ridiculous, but he felt a little bit like a suspect. As such, it was better not to volunteer too much information.

"I see. And for how long do you plan to keep seeing her?"

Peter froze, not having expected such a loaded question. He glanced at Elizabeth's sister, but she seemed amused by his helplessness. "As long as she will have me," he said haltingly.

Mr. Mitchell picked up on his tone right away. "Is that a question?" he asked.

"No, I just meant that… it's up to El… Elizabeth…"

"You don't have an opinion?"

"Of course I do. I want to be with your daughter. That's why I'm here, but…"

"But what?"

Peter forced himself to take a breath. This was actually turning into an interrogation, and he was making the same mistakes as his suspects always did. He was getting rattled.

Before he could try to fix that, though, a loud scream echoed through the apartment. It didn't sound like El, so it had to be her mother. Either way, they all jumped to their feet in surprise.

"Mom?"

"Honey?"

Mr. Mitchell and Madeline were about to go look for her when Mrs. Mitchell returned to the living room on her own with a worried Elizabeth on her heels.

"Mom? What's wrong?"

"Why… for heaven's sake… is there a gun under your pillow?" Mrs. Mitchell asked, her voice still shaky.

"What?"

 _Oh God,_ Peter thought in that short moment before Elizabeth realized that her mother could only be talking about his gun. When she did, she gave him a look that was confused and irritated at the same time. Unfortunately, he couldn't explain to her now why hiding his gun under the pillows had seemed like a good idea at the time. When Peter had grabbed his jacket, he had realized that he couldn't just leave his gun right there in the hallway. Since Elizabeth had been busy in the living room, he had quickly decided to put the gun into the bedroom, in the hope that her parents wouldn't have reason to go in there.

Elizabeth seemed to have the same thought. "What were you even doing in the bedroom, Mom?"

"I just wanted to leave something on your bed as a surprise. But it was a bit of a mess in there, so I thought I would quickly make the bed for you. You know you have to shake out your pillows or they get lumpy…"

"Mom! I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need you to make my bed for me!" Elizabeth protested while her sister snickered.

The thought that El's mother had tried to make the bed in which Peter had just had sex with her daughter would have been horrifying, but the whole thing with the gun seemed worse.

Mrs. Mitchell certainly agreed. "That is beside the point right now. You still haven't answered my question about that gun!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. The gun is mine," Peter said quickly to save Elizabeth from her mother's outrage.

Mr. Mitchell had observed the exchange between his wife and daughter without trying to interfere, but now that Peter had spoken up, he turned towards him. "You brought a firearm into our daughter's home?"

Before Peter could think of a reply, Elizabeth returned to his side. "It's not like that, Dad. Peter is an FBI agent," she said, and Peter wasn't sure what distracted him more – the way she almost defiantly reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers or the unmistakable pride in her voice.

Both seemed to have the intended effect, at least on her mother. "FBI? Really? Oh my, that sounds exciting!" she said, suddenly intrigued.

"Not as exciting as the prospect of the fresh cup of coffee I was promised," Madeline interjected.

"Mom distracted me. But you know where the kitchen is. Feel free to get it yourself," Elizabeth told her with a pointed look.

"Fine," Madeline replied and left the room.

Peter tried to hide how relieved he was that Elizabeth wasn't going to leave him alone with her parents again. She seemed to understand perfectly, though, and pulled him over to the couch to sit with her.

Her parents sat back down as well. Mr. Mitchell didn't seem pleased by the sight of them holding hands. And he didn't sound as enthusiastic as his wife either when he asked, "What made you decide to become an FBI agent?"

Peter felt like he was back in high school, showing up on his first girlfriend's doorstep to pick her up for their first date, desperately trying to impress her family. In his panic to come up with something meaningful to say, all he could think of was, "Three things, I suppose. Fidelity, bravery, and integrity."

Mr. Mitchell frowned. "Isn't that the FBI motto?"

"It is," Peter nodded.

"So your answer as to why you chose your current career path is a platitude?"

"Dad, be nice," Elizabeth pleaded on Peter's behalf, which did not make him feel better.

And it certainly didn't impress her father. "Honeybee, if he can't handle answering my questions, I think he's got the wrong job."

"Come on, Alan," Mrs. Mitchell intervened before Peter could try to defend himself. "When have we ever met a real FBI agent before? I want to know more. What do you do exactly? Catch criminals, go after bad guys?"

"That depends on your definition of 'bad guys.' I'm in White Collar," Peter replied.

"What does that mean? And is that the reason why you're wearing that T-shirt with your suit rather than a nice shirt?"

Peter glanced at El, who mouthed 'sorry' while she tried not to laugh. That didn't help either. "No, it just means that I'm investigating what the FBI refers to as white-collar crimes like insurance fraud or bank fraud."

"So you're going after people who've stolen other people's money," Mr. Mitchell summed up his explanation. "Is money something you value a lot?"

That sounded like a question with only wrong answers, but El saved him again by saying, "That's not all Peter does. He recovered a very valuable painting for the DeArmitt Gallery. That's how we met."

"Recovered? As in something was stolen from your gallery?" Mrs. Mitchell asked.

"Yes, I was a witness, and Peter interviewed me." Elizabeth smiled at him, but the happy moment between them was short-lived.

"You never told us there was a break-in at your gallery! That sounds dangerous," El's mother said, her tone more than a little accusatory.

Elizabeth had to focus back on her. "I was going to tell you, and I was never in any danger."

Madeline chose that moment to return with the coffee and said, "Except for that night when they broke in a second time and you were working late and suddenly you were all alone with them."

"Right," Elizabeth said without missing a beat. "And that's when Peter saved me."

Both of her parents stared at him. "You did?"

"Um, well…" Peter gave El a look, wondering if exaggerating what had happened was really the way she wanted to go. He hadn't actually saved her since he doubted that Carol Rhodes had ever planned on attacking El. She shrugged and indicated that he should just go with it. "I only did my job."

"In that case, we're very grateful to you, Peter," Mrs. Mitchell said.

"Yes, thanks for watching out for our girl," her husband added.

"No need to thank me, sir. I would never let her get hurt." It was the first thing he had said since her parents' arrival that felt right. And when Peter looked at El, she gave him a touched smile.

"Okay, you two lovebirds have definitely been cooped up in here for too long," Madeline broke the spell between them. "Time to hit the city."

"You hate New York City," Elizabeth reminded her.

"That's because the traffic is a giant pain in the ass. But I'm sure that's no problem for an FBI agent."

"It is if you're suggesting that we break the law," Peter said quickly.

Madeline grinned. "Of course not. But I'm sure your car has a siren or something."

"Actually, it doesn't, and even if it did, using it for personal reasons would be breaking the law," Peter pointed out.

Elizabeth got to her feet before her sister could respond. "Why don't we walk?" she suggested. "It's nice outside."

"Great idea, honey," her mother agreed, and they all got up to put their coats and shoes on.

They decided to walk to a diner that was only a couple of blocks away to have breakfast (in Peter and El's case) or brunch as far as the rest of her family was concerned. The walk over there was actually rather nice. El hadn't let go of Peter's hand since the apartment, and she struck up an easy conversation with her parents about a recent trip they had taken. All Peter needed to do was to listen and to nod every now and then.

He actually liked El's parents when they weren't staring at him or grilling him. They were obviously good people who loved both of their daughters very much. Then again, he hadn't expected anything else. All the love and kindness El had in her heart had to have come from somewhere. And Peter couldn't fault El's parents for wanting to protect her. If she had told them about her last piece-of-shit boyfriend, they had every right to be cautious with him.

None of that helped him, though, when they had gotten a table at the diner and Mrs. Mitchell said she needed to go to the ladies' room again. Both of her daughters joined her, leaving Peter alone with El's father.

At first, Peter thought he could simply wait it out. But Mr. Mitchell had gone back to staring at him, and Peter would have felt like a coward if he hadn't come up with a single thing to say. "So, what is it you do, Mr. Mitchell?"

"I'm a psychiatrist."

That explained all the weird tricky questions at least. "Wow, that's interesting," Peter said, and perhaps he laid it on too thick with the enthusiasm.

El's father furrowed his brow, and then, unsurprisingly, he asked another question. "Why do you think that's interesting?"

"I just have the utmost respect for your profession," Peter tried to explain. "We have mandatory psych evaluations at work, and they are not to be taken lightly."

"Sounds like your respect is really based on a certain distrust if not dislike of psychiatrists," Mr. Mitchell said.

And suddenly Peter remembered why he hated those psych evals. But it didn't seem wise to admit that. Instead, he said, "No, that's not what I meant. I'm just not a big fan of sitting around and talking about myself."

"Why don't you like to talk about yourself? Most people enjoy that immensely," El's father pointed out.

Peter shrugged. "I'd rather get back to work."

"Then you think that you're so indispensable that if you spend thirty minutes to determine your mental fitness to carry a firearm, the rest of the FBI won't know what to do in that time?"

Peter could only stare at the other man for a moment. He might not be a big fan of psychiatrists, but at least none of the ones he had dealt with so far had insisted on twisting every word that came out of his mouth. "No, but I know what it is I'm good at, which is closing cases, and that's why I want to spend all my time doing that," Peter answered as measured as he could.

Mr. Mitchell smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. It was more of a self-satisfied smile that already made Peter fear what he was about to say next. "I see. Then tell me, Peter, where does my daughter fit into that?"

No matter what he said, it was wrong. Peter understood being protective of someone you loved, but he suddenly realized that Mr. Mitchell wasn't the only one who felt that way about Elizabeth. And Peter had no intention of backing down. "Elizabeth doesn't need to be fitted in anywhere. She's smart and passionate, and she can do whatever she wants," he told her father.

Mr. Mitchell didn't even hesitate with his answer. "I know that. I just don't know why she needs you."

"You're right. She doesn't need me. But with all due respect, it's her decision if she wants me. And if she does, then that's where I'll be. Because whether you believe that or not, I care about your daughter more than I care about anything else."

The words came out in a rush and entirely unfiltered. But once they were out, Peter knew that they were also true. Scary and slightly premature, perhaps, but true nevertheless.

And he was relieved to see that Mr. Mitchell didn't look so smug anymore. He seemed thoughtful now and went back to staring when the Mitchell women returned to the table.

"Are you boys being nice to each other?" Elizabeth asked while she slid onto the bench next to Peter.

Peter couldn't help himself. He slipped one hand under the table to put it on El's knee. Her father couldn't see that of course, but since he had been watching Peter closely, he could probably guess where his hand had gone.

When Elizabeth felt his touch, she just turned her head and smiled at him. And that smile was everything he needed. It was worth a hundred hours of being grilled by her father.

"Peter was just about to tell me about the dangers of his job," Mr. Mitchell answered his daughter's question with an outright lie and he didn't seem to feel bad about that in the slightest.

Elizabeth's smile faded a little, but it was her mother who took the edge off. "Oh yes, do tell us, Peter. Are you a real bad boy like in the movie?" she asked and started humming a melody that Peter unfortunately recognized as the theme song from that movie.

"Mom, that movie wasn't even about the FBI," Elizabeth pointed out, trying to get her mother to stop humming.

"And movies like that generally have very little to do with reality," Peter added, not interested in competing with an image of Will Smith as a Miami detective that seemed to be on Mrs. Mitchell's mind.

"Oh, I know that. But I'm sure going after money laundering criminals can be very exciting at times."

And so for the rest of their brunch, Peter was forced to walk the fine line between telling stories from work that weren't too dull or unimpressive but also not too scary.

When they left the diner, Elizabeth remembered that there was a special exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art this weekend and suggested that they should go there next. Madeline wasn't too thrilled with that idea, but after Elizabeth had reminded her sister that she had been the one to drag them all into this, everybody agreed to let El have her way. Peter had a feeling that wasn't an unusual occurrence in the Mitchell household, and he couldn't blame them. El could be a force of nature when she wanted to be.

Especially when it came to discussing modern art. At the museum, it didn't take long for her and her father to start arguing about the meaning of some of the paintings. Madeline was otherwise occupied rebuking a bunch of children not to run and scream in the museum (apparently, being a teacher was as difficult to turn off as being an FBI agent). So Peter stood to the side with Mrs. Mitchell while her husband and younger daughter barely even paid attention to them.

"Do they always do that?" Peter asked, making a mental note not to bring El to a museum on any of their future dates.

"Argue about paintings? Oh yes," Mrs. Mitchell confirmed with a broad smile on her face while she watched them. "Ever since she decided to study art history, it's become their favorite pastime. She's so very smart, and he's so very proud of her. Of both of them. Most men dream of having a son one day, but I think Alan was meant to raise these beautiful, strong, independent daughters."

Peter didn't know how to respond other than with a quick nod. He certainly couldn't argue with her description of the Mitchell sisters, especially the younger one.

With a knowing smile, Mrs. Mitchell turned her attention to him. "So don't take anything he might have said today too personally. He'll come around. If you treat her well that is…"

It was the closest thing to a warning Peter had heard from El's mother. "Mrs. Mitchell…" he began.

"Tina," she corrected him kindly.

"Tina, I don't know your daughter the way you and your husband do, but I want to. I want to make her happy."

Mrs. Mitchell smiled. "I think you're a good man, Peter. On top of being a bad boy, of course." She winked at him.

Peter suppressed a sigh and decided to take the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs… Tina."

The rest of the day felt a little less like a struggle. Mr. Mitchell seemed to have argued enough for one day, and Mrs. Mitchell was almost affectionate towards Peter, though that was probably just part of her nature. He still stared, and she still hummed 'Bad Boys' under her breath every now and then. But as the day progressed, Elizabeth became more and more at ease with openly showing her affection for Peter in front of her family, so really, he had nothing to complain about.

Nevertheless, Peter was wiped out when the Mitchells had finally said their goodbyes that night.

Elizabeth closed the door behind them and then she turned around to him with a curious smile on her lips. Peter leaned against the doorframe to the living room and didn't feel like he could move or say anything meaningful. Elizabeth walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply, taking her time like they had done this morning before her family had hijacked their Sunday.

"What was that for?" Peter asked, not bothering to hide the grin on his face when their kiss had finally ended.

"Just a little thank you for spending the day with me and my family, especially my dad. I know he was a bit prickly. He's not usually like that," Elizabeth said.

"You mean he's not like that with you because he loves you. He hates me."

Elizabeth shook her head. "He doesn't hate you. He told me he likes you better than my last boyfriends. I mean, if that's what you want."

"To treat you better than your last boyfriend? I most definitely want that," Peter assured her, though he had a feeling that he was sidestepping the real question. But this needed to be said, too.

Elizabeth smiled, but she clarified, "To be my boyfriend."

Peter was a little surprised that she felt she needed to ask this, but then he remembered that technically they had still only been on three dates – if you didn't count today as a date, which he didn't. They had obviously never talked about this. "El, last night was more than just great. It meant something to me. I don't just do that…" He huffed when he couldn't really find the right words.

"Me either," Elizabeth said quickly.

He sighed in relief, glad that she seemed to understand. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want to be with anyone but you."

Elizabeth responded by kissing him again. The way she was pressing into him, with her hands buried in his hair and one of her legs hooked around his, told Peter that this was only going to end with them back in her bed.

Which was exactly where he wanted to be, but somehow, he managed to disentangle himself from her before then. "El, I'm so sorry, but I need to go home. I need a fresh suit for work tomorrow. If we do this, I'm not going anywhere tonight."

El actually pouted a little, which didn't make this any easier for Peter. "I love her, but I'm a little mad at my sister for taking this day away from us," she said.

Peter cupped her face in his hands and kissed her very tenderly so they wouldn't get carried away again. "We'll have lots of time to make up for it," he promised her.

She nodded, but then she seemed to have a thought and paused. "Or… why don't I just pack a bag with everything I need for work tomorrow and come with you?"

"To my place?" Peter asked, making a bit of a face, and before he could school his features, Elizabeth had already seen it.

"Or not," she said dismissively but clearly a little hurt, too, having drawn all the wrong conclusions.

"No, no." Peter quickly took her hands in his, perhaps squeezing them a little too hard. "I'd love to have you over. It's just… I'm not sure it's, um, presentable."

The hurt and confusion in Elizabeth's eyes were immediately replaced by an amused glimmer. "What exactly are you worried about?"

Peter shrugged. "Just don't want to scare you off."

Elizabeth laughed, and he simply couldn't get over how that always made her beauty even more pronounced. "You just spent all day being interrogated by my father. Do you honestly think a few socks lying around could make me run for the hills now?"

With a smile on his face, Peter wrapped his arms around her waist again. "So you're giving me full immunity?"

"For tonight," Elizabeth agreed. "I'm not saying you can have socks lying around every time I come over."

Honestly, all Peter cared about was the implication that she would be coming over a lot. "Deal," he said.

* * *

Peter's apartment was very manly. Elizabeth couldn't think of a better word to describe it. It was actually a very nice apartment, considering he had to pay rent on a government salary. It was a one bedroom, just like hers, but the living room was lovely with an open kitchen, big windows, and even a little balcony. The light in here during the day was probably very beautiful.

But there wasn't a lot of life in it. There was a big TV and a Yankees blanket draped over the couch, a few books and a couple of DVDs but not a lot of pictures and no plants. The curtains looked like someone had hastily picked them out at Home Depot, the kitchen was suspiciously spotless, and the coffee table was littered with FBI files (no socks, though).

"So what's the verdict?" Peter wrapped his arms around her from behind after giving her a moment to take it all in.

"I think it's very nice. It just needs a bit of a woman's touch," Elizabeth replied boldly.

Peter started planting kisses along her jawline and down the side of her neck. "Hm, you can touch anything you want in here."

Elizabeth turned around in his arms. "Does that include the tenant?"

"Especially him."

That's where their conversation ended and their hunger for each other got the better of them. Elizabeth's bag was left abandoned by the door because they had precious little need for clothes the rest of the night. Actually, they didn't need anything except each other. When Elizabeth closed her eyes while Peter was kissing her all over her body, she could barely even remember who she was anymore. She was perfectly happy to lose herself in him just as he inevitably came undone inside of her. It was like they were creating a new sense of self that irrevocably bound them together.

Waking up in Peter's arms the next morning when his alarm went off still felt a little unfamiliar but wonderful all the same. When Elizabeth realized that the alarm clock was closer to her than to Peter, which probably meant that she had somehow ended up sleeping on his side of the bed, she stretched a little to turn it off.

"Mhm, don't move," Peter mumbled, pulling her back against him.

"You set the alarm. I don't have to be at work for another two hours," Elizabeth told him.

"Don't go." She just smiled, but Peter stopped nuzzling her neck and lifted his head to look at her. "I'm serious. Let's play hooky today and call in sick."

Elizabeth raised both eyebrows at him. "Have you ever called in sick?"

"Nope, never. I don't get sick," Peter replied proudly.

"Then why break that perfect record?" she asked.

Peter looked as if the answer was perfectly obvious. "Because I want to spend more time with you, even if I have to break a few rules to do it."

"I think I'm having a bad influence on you," Elizabeth said with an amused grin on her face.

"Then I guess I'll have to make sure that you're severely scolded," Peter replied, his hands moving to find all her most ticklish spots.

Elizabeth writhed and laughed until his hands stilled and she got the chance to really look at him. "Seriously, Peter, I don't want to get you into trouble at work."

"Honestly, I really don't care, El," he vowed but frowned when he saw a look on her face that he couldn't identify. "What?"

"You've been calling me 'El'…" she observed.

Peter hesitated. "You don't like it?"

Elizabeth chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love it."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry about last chapter's cliffhanger. I hope you enjoyed this second part. I know El's dad is coming down hard on Peter in this one, but I think their relationship on the show still seemed rather distant for ten plus years of marriage between Peter and El. So I figured the beginning would have been rough. Anyway, as always, thanks for the reviews!**


	10. Family Album

It shouldn't have been possible to feel bone-tired and wide awake at the same time. But Peter was so wired on caffeine that sleep was impossible, even though his eyes burned and his back ached from sitting at his desk and going through files all day long. When he finally found the smoking gun he had been looking for, he almost missed it. He dropped his pen, rechecked the numbers three times, and only then allowed a big fat grin to spread across his face.

Peter was out of his chair in an instant and bounded up the stairs to Hughes' office. He barely remembered to knock before barging in.

Hughes was hunched over his desk just like Peter had been a moment ago and looked up in surprise. "Burke!? What's going on?"

"I found it, sir. I found our smoking gun in the Woodward case," Peter said and handed him the file.

The senior agent took a moment to look at it before he leaned back in his chair. "I'll be damned. How did you find this?"

"Went through all his bank statements again," Peter replied.

"All of them? By yourself?" Hughes' face showed a mix of disbelief and approval.

Peter nodded, glad his accounting degree was paying off after all.

"Are you after my job by any chance, Burke?" Hughes asked, sounding amused.

"You do have a pretty nice view from up here," Peter said with a sly grin.

Hughes chuckled. "Tell you what, you bring me more good work like this, and I'll get you an office."

In an attempt to be professional about this, Peter suppressed his excitement and tried to stay focused on the here and now rather than the future. "Understood. Do you want me to call in some backup?"

"No, we can get that S.O.B. tomorrow. He's not going anywhere. It's late. Go home, Peter," Hughes said and dropped the file on his desk.

Hughes visibly relaxed now that he had another win on his hands, but Peter felt as if he had just woken up from a dream and reality came crushing in on him. He had thought of nothing but this case all day, seen numbers upon numbers, and somehow, he had lost sight of the really important ones.

"Wait, what time is it?" he asked.

"Almost ten. Why?"

"Shit!" Peter cursed loudly and closed his eyes for a second as if that would get him out of this mess.

Hughes' brow was furrowed when he looked at him again. "What's going on, Peter?"

"I was supposed to pick up El hours ago." He wasn't sure why he was telling Hughes this. Peter liked the senior agent, but they had kept their personal conversations to a minimum so far. He had preferred to let his work do the talking. But right now he felt so lost, he needed to tell someone.

Hughes didn't seem to mind. "Who's El?" he asked.

"My girlfriend Elizabeth." Peter ran a hand over his face. "Now possibly ex-girlfriend." He felt sick to his stomach even thinking about that.

"Oh come on, it can't be that bad. Just pick up some flowers on the way home and tell her it was my fault. I kept you," Hughes offered.

It wasn't a bad idea, but Peter still shook his head. "I don't think a bunch of flowers is going to cut it. It's our one-month anniversary tonight. I told her I would pick her up after work and surprise her with something. I was going to take her back to the restaurant where we had our first date."

"One month, huh? That's cute," Hughes smirked.

"I know, I know. But El mentioned it, and she seemed excited about celebrating our first couple of weeks together."

Actually, Peter had liked the idea just as much. A month didn't sound like much, but it felt like a big deal because it had only taken these four weeks for Elizabeth to completely change his life. After his initial hesitation during the gallery investigation, things had just fallen into place for them. Being with El was the highlight of every day that they managed to see each other. They both worked a lot, so it wasn't always easy, but it also worked because of it. They both appreciated the time they did have together a lot more. And so far, El had never asked him to stop working late.

Of course now, Peter almost wished she had. He had gotten so used to how easy things were between him and Elizabeth that he had managed to forget about her tonight. He could barely explain that to himself. He had no idea how he was supposed to explain that to El or expect her to understand, let alone forgive him.

Hughes had watched all of that play out on Peter's face. "You really love her, don't you?"

"What? Um…" Peter couldn't really think straight, especially since the idea of Elizabeth leaving him nearly petrified him.

"Hey, you don't have to tell me, Peter. But in my experience, and I'm not an expert, mind you, your best bet is to tell her everything. Everything you're feeling right now. Women like that kind of stuff."

Peter thought about that for a moment, falling back on his Quantico training, treating this like a case. If somebody held a gun to his head, he didn't have the luxury of freaking out either. In a way, this situation felt just as life-threatening, so the comparison wasn't too far off.

"Do you need me to take down Woodward tomorrow?" he asked Hughes.

"Well, I was going to let you take the lead since you deserve the credit, but no, I guess you don't need to be there in person."

"Good, forget about the credit. I need you to help me save my relationship."

* * *

His hands were so sweaty, Peter could barely hold on to the steering wheel. By the time he got to El's apartment, it was closer to eleven than ten. He couldn't tell if she was still awake because her bedroom window was facing away from the street. He could have called ahead, but since he hadn't thought to call her all night, he had decided not to start now. He only would have ended up apologizing over the phone.

Standing outside her apartment door, Peter took a deep breath before he knocked.

It didn't take Elizabeth long to open, which told him that she hadn't been asleep yet. But from the looks of it, she had been in bed already. She wore a hastily thrown over robe that she hadn't bothered to close over her nightgown that was enticingly short. Her hair was a little disheveled and she wasn't wearing any makeup. He knew that she wouldn't set foot outside her apartment like that, but to Peter, she looked absolutely stunning all the same.

"Peter! Are you okay?" she asked as she pulled him inside and forcefully shut the door behind him.

That wasn't the greeting he had expected, so Peter needed a moment to collect his thoughts. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I thought about trying to call, but I figured you were probably out on an important case," Elizabeth said.

Peter's dread only worsened when he realized that El wasn't mad because she had been worried about him all night. That seemed like the only thing worse than the anger he had expected. He carefully took her hands in his. "I'm okay, El. Nothing happened."

El breathed a sigh of relief that made Peter feel a hundred times worse. Only then did she seem to process what he had just said. "Nothing happened?"

"No, I wasn't even out in the field today," he confirmed, shaking his head and regretting it almost instantly.

Because El pulled back her hands. "Then where were you?"

"I was in the office. I've been trying to crack the Woodward case all day. I told you the FBI has been trying to nail that guy on something for a while now. It's a career case, and I knew I was really close to finding a smoking gun," he hurried to explain and then he watched as El crossed her arms.

"So you've been working all night, at your desk, next to the phone, and you couldn't pick it up to let me know that you were okay?"

He had never heard her use that tone with him before. It still wasn't as all-out angry as he had thought. It was worse, actually. She sounded hurt.

Peter desperately wanted to touch her, to reconnect, but Elizabeth's body language made her boundaries very clear. "I'm so sorry, El. I don't know what happened. I got so lost in what was right in front of me…"

"Did you find it?" Elizabeth interrupted his ramblings. He had decided what to say to her on the drive over here, but somehow, he couldn't get the words out. "Your smoking gun?"

"Yes, I basically gave Woodward to Hughes on a silver platter," Peter told her and tried very hard not to smile about that since he figured that would only make matters worse.

But Elizabeth smiled a little as well. "Good. I'm happy for you, Peter. And now I'm going to bed."

"No, El, please." He grabbed her arm and gently made her turn back around. "Let me take you somewhere."

"What? Peter, it's late!" she protested.

"I know. But I told you I'd surprise you for our anniversary, and I still have an hour left. If we start driving now, it still counts."

Elizabeth seemed torn between irritation and confusion. "Drive where?"

"It's a surprise," Peter said with a cautious smile.

"I have to work tomorrow, and I can't call in sick again."

Peter shook his head. He had anticipated that one. "No, you don't. Hughes is going to call the gallery tomorrow and tell them that you've been requisitioned by the FBI to come over and dot some i's and cross some t's regarding the theft investigation. You know, trial prep and stuff like that." It was a bit of a stretch. But in all likelihood, no one would follow up on it, and Hughes, surprisingly, had agreed to do it.

Elizabeth looked stunned, which was a big step up from being hurt. "Honestly, I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll come. I messed this up, El. Please let me make it right," he asked her.

"Fine, but this better be good."

Peter took the liberty of packing a bag for her. He probably packed way more stuff than she needed, but he didn't really know what she needed and didn't want to ask since Elizabeth still looked reluctant to do so much as change into a pair of pants and a sweater. If it had been up to Peter, she wouldn't have needed to change at all, except she would have been too cold in the car.

Even now, she started shaking the second they left the apartment building since her body had been prepared to go to sleep, not get dragged out into the night. Peter grabbed her a blanket from the trunk, cranked up the heat, and within minutes she had fallen asleep in the passenger's seat.

Peter smiled to himself and kept driving. Every now and then, he allowed himself to look at her. No matter how often he did that, the sight of her only got more adorable. And he had hope that he could still fix things if Elizabeth trusted him enough to fall asleep next to him, though she had no idea where he was taking her.

When he had finally parked the car, he leaned over and pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. Then he gently kissed her awake. Peter's heart leapt when El's instinctive reaction was to smile and reach out to put a hand on his cheek.

Only then did she seem to remember what had happened. "Where are we?" she asked, trying to shake off her fatigue.

"Don't worry. We're still in the state of New York," Peter assured her.

He got out of the car and took a moment to stretch and enjoy the smell of the beach that hit him instantly. Then he circled round to the passenger side to help El get out, too. She took a few shaky steps and gaped at the waves that kept crashing against the shore in the darkness. The sea glittered with the reflection of all the lights that came from other houses and cabins in the vicinity. But compared to New York City, it was wonderfully dark and quiet out here.

"Peter, this is beautiful," Elizabeth whispered.

"Yes. It is," Peter replied, looking only at her.

She caught him and opened her mouth to say something, but Peter beat her to it. "Let's go inside first." He pointed to the little cabin behind them, fished out the key from inside the letter box, and opened the door for El.

The cabin was small but all set up for them to spend the night. There were even a couple of lit candles and a bottle of champagne, though Peter hadn't asked for that. Elizabeth took it all in and then turned around to him in wonder.

"You couldn't simply pick up the phone and call me tonight, but you managed to do all this?"

"I know the guy who rents out these cabins. I helped him out once, proved he was innocent. He owed me one," Peter admitted and set down their bags. "I realize it's now not officially our one-month anniversary anymore, and I'm sorry about that, but…"

Elizabeth held up a hand to stop him, and Peter tried not to panic. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest. This way, they could both feel that his heart was racing. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "I love you."

"What?" Peter said, baffled.

El laughed softly about the look on his face and caressed his cheek. "I don't love that you couldn't make it tonight, but all you had to do was call and tell me. I understand that your work is important – more important than what we did on our one-month anniversary because we'll have others to celebrate."

"So… for future reference, no need for the candles or the champagne?" Peter asked with a lopsided grin on his face to buy himself some time to process her words. He had hoped for her forgiveness, but she was giving him a lot more than that.

El shrugged. "It's nice, but I don't actually need any of it."

Peter wrapped his arms around her waist. "Neither do I. El, I wasn't sure if this was too soon, but I've been falling in love with you since the moment we met. I just didn't want to scare you."

"Scare me by telling me you loved me?"

"Well, scare you _and_ me," Peter confessed.

El gave him a quick but firm kiss. "I'm not scared. Are you?"

"A little bit, because I don't think I can drive you to Long Island every time I mess up because of work," Peter said. It was only partially meant as a joke.

"Honey, I fell in love with you while you were at work. I happen to like being with a smart, tough FBI agent."

"But you would probably prefer for that FBI agent to be home when he said he would be," Peter said.

"Yes, but I'm sure you'll make it up to me."

The glimmer in Elizabeth's eyes was both demanding and playful at the same time, and Peter could think of only one thing to say.

"I love you, El."

* * *

After a wonderful night and a lovely day at the beach, they were walking back to the cabin late in the afternoon the next day. Holding Peter's hand, Elizabeth couldn't remember ever having been this happy. She had been in love before, but this was more than just physical attraction and a sudden infatuation.

She had begun to really know Peter, to appreciate his many wonderful qualities and accept his faults. She was making room for him in her apartment, her daily schedule, her life, and, most importantly, her heart, and she trusted him to do the same. She wanted to share all those things with him because without him they suddenly seemed a lot less meaningful. She was as invested in Peter's accomplishments and his happiness as she was in her own. She had stopped thinking in terms of what she could do with her life in favor of what _they_ could do with it. And her dreams of the future, _their_ future, became bigger with every passing day.

So Elizabeth wasn't the least bit scared when Peter said, "I've been thinking… we could get dinner in town later, or we could pack up now and stop by my dad's on the way home. It would be a surprise, but I know he'd love to meet you."

"And I would love to meet him," Elizabeth was glad to agree – not just because she could tell from Peter's smile that the prospect of introducing the two of them was making him happy. She wanted to know everything about him, so of course she wanted to meet his dad.

Peter was almost giddy with excitement during the drive over there. Elizabeth loved to see this side of him, but he also made her a little nervous. This was obviously very important to him, and Elizabeth could only hope that neither she nor his dad would let him down.

The house they stopped at was small but clearly well taken care of. There was a truck parked in the driveway and a sign out on the front lawn that advertised the small construction company Peter's dad owned.

"Is this the house you grew up in?" Elizabeth wondered as they walked up to the front door.

"Yup, learned to play ball right in the back yard," Peter nodded fondly.

He knocked on the door, and while they waited, Elizabeth nervously tugged on her dress. Since Peter had packed her bag for this impromptu trip, it showed a bit more cleavage than she would have liked for her first meeting with his dad.

When she saw the huge grin on Peter's face, she swatted his arm. "Stop laughing at me!"

He didn't, but he did lean in to give her a quick kiss and said, "You look beautiful, El."

"I agree." Peter's dad had finally opened the door, and the smile on his face was quite similar to his son's.

"Good to see you, Dad," Peter said and stepped away from Elizabeth to give his father a hug.

"You too, son. Did I know you were coming?"

"No, we were on our way home and wanted to stop by to surprise you. I thought we'd be just in time for dinner," Peter explained.

"Well, you're just in time to make dinner," his dad replied with a chuckle. "And now move aside, son, so I can greet your lovely lady."

Elizabeth smiled and extended a hand. "I'm Elizabeth. It's so nice to finally meet you."

Peter's dad took her hand and held it in both of his. He looked like an older version of Peter, same eyes, same nose, just a little less hair. He even looked remarkably fit for his age, but that probably came with the job. "Call me Robert. And the pleasure is all mine. You're definitely the prettiest girl Peter has ever brought home."

"Really? How do I know you don't say that to all the girls?" Elizabeth asked.

Robert Burke laughed and patted his son on the back. "She's feisty. I like her already." And to Elizabeth he said, "You caught me. But the truth is he didn't bring that many girls home…"

"Okay, that's enough, Dad," Peter intervened. "Can we come in now?"

His father stepped aside, and Peter led Elizabeth inside the house with his hand at the small of her back. The living room had an open kitchen and a beautiful fireplace. Elizabeth was immediately drawn to it when she saw that there were a bunch of pictures on the mantlepiece.

"Aw, Peter, is that you?" she asked, picking up a photo of a young boy in a cute baseball outfit, holding a giant foam finger. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, that was taken when Dad took me to see my first baseball game," Peter remembered.

Elizabeth ran a finger over the picture frame. "You were such an adorable little kid."

"There's more where that came from," Robert said, waving at the pictures. "If you'd like to see them."

"I would love to!" Elizabeth nodded emphatically.

Peter groaned. "I thought we wanted to make dinner?"

"How about you make dinner, son, while lovely Elizabeth and I have a nice, cold beer on the patio?" Robert put an arm around Elizabeth, and she could only give Peter a helpless smile over her shoulder as she allowed his dad to guide her outside.

There were two chairs set up on the patio with a table and a cooler in between them. Elizabeth could easily picture Peter and his dad sitting here, enjoying a beer and a game, though she wasn't sure how they would get the TV out here.

"Sit," Robert encouraged her. After sitting down himself, he reached inside the cooler to open two bottles of beer for them and offer one to her.

Elizabeth didn't want to be rude so she sat and accepted the beer. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. So how come you two were driving around out here in the middle of the week?"

"It was a spontaneous trip that Peter surprised me with last night."

His dad's brow furrowed. "Surprised you, huh?"

"Yes, he wanted to make up for working late," she explained.

Robert nodded. "Now that sounds like my son. He's cancelled on me quite a bit, too, lately. Probably wouldn't want me to tell you that." He chuckled and sipped his beer.

Elizabeth smiled softly. "I'm sure he felt bad about every one of those times."

"Are you defending my son's actions to me?" Robert asked, looking surprised.

"I'm just saying… from what Peter has told me, I know that he loves you very much and would like to come out here more often. But he also wants to make you proud by putting in the work to become a supervisory agent soon. I'm sure it hasn't always been easy for him to decide between the two," Elizabeth explained.

Robert looked at her and then shook his head laughing. "Sounds like what he should really be paying attention to is you."

"Oh, he does," Elizabeth said, trying not to blush too much. Peter's father was a lot more direct than she had expected. Maybe that's where Peter had gotten his FBI instincts from, if not his confidence with women.

"Good, because I might not know how dating works these days, but even I can tell that you're a keeper."

Elizabeth felt a little sad that, as far as she knew, Peter's dad was alone most of the time. He was clearly a very charming man. Surely, there was another woman out there for him. But she wasn't brave enough to bring up his late wife or the torch he might still be carrying for her. Not just yet anyway. So she stayed focused on the one person they both loved. "So is your son."

"Won't argue with you on that one." Robert winked at her.

Elizabeth twisted in her chair to try and see how Peter was doing in the kitchen. "Are you sure we should just leave him alone in there?"

His dad shrugged. "He'll be fine. After all, those pots and pans can't shoot at him."

"That depends on what exactly he's trying to make," Elizabeth joked, though she had a feeling that she already knew.

Robert Burke bellowed with laughter, but when Elizabeth tried to peek inside the kitchen again, he quieted down. "You have to stop doing that."

"I'm sorry, what?" Elizabeth asked, worried she might have done something to offend him.

"Worry about Peter so much. Take it from someone who's loved him all his life."

Elizabeth knew that Peter's dad wasn't talking about his son's skills in the kitchen anymore. She hesitated, but eventually her curiosity got the better of her. "Did you ever try to talk him out of it?" She couldn't imagine Peter doing anything else than work for the FBI, but she also couldn't imagine what it must have felt like for Robert as a parent, who had already lost his wife, when his only son had told him he was choosing a potentially dangerous job.

"'Course I did. Broke my heart as much as his when he couldn't play ball anymore. Damn shame. But he still had that fancy degree of his and he got recruited by several Fortune 500 companies. I would have been a lousy dad if I hadn't at least tried to talk him into taking one of those offers."

"Really?" Elizabeth glanced at Peter again, wondering why he had never mentioned that.

His dad only nodded thoughtfully. "Yup, he could have made a small fortune by now, and you wouldn't have to worry about a thing."

"I might have never met him, though," Elizabeth argued. She had a hard time picturing a scenario where Peter wasn't an FBI agent. After all, New York City was practically bursting with Wall Street geniuses and fancy suits.

"Can't know that. Maybe you two were meant to be," Robert said with a smile that made him look a lot like Peter.

Maybe that's why Elizabeth dared to ask, "Do you believe in that sort of thing?"

"I did once." It was clear he was talking about Peter's mother even after all this time, and Elizabeth's eyes stung with tears that she hadn't expected. "And the way my son talks about you, I think he does, too."

Her heart ached in her chest, and Elizabeth twisted in her chair again, both to look at Peter and to hide her face while she was blinking away the tears. "Do you mind if I…?"

Robert gave her a knowing smile. "Sure, go ahead."

Elizabeth went back inside the house, and Peter looked up from chopping peppers when she joined him behind the kitchen counter. "Hey, is everything okay?" he asked, clearly worried that something might have happened between her and his father.

"I just couldn't miss out on my first chance to watch you make your famous pot roast," she said, reaching out to rub his back.

Peter grinned broadly and made room for her to help.

"I heard you got a few interesting job offers before you joined the FBI," Elizabeth said after they had been working in comfortable silence for a while.

Peter heaved a sigh. "He really needs to stop telling people that."

"I'm not people," Elizabeth pointed out. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It just didn't come up since our first date. And I didn't think it wise then to tell you that rather than eat at a modest restaurant with a government employee you could have been dining with a member of the Upper Ten Thousand somewhere above the skyline of Manhattan."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Do you really think I would have cared about that?"

Something in her tone must have alerted him because Peter wiped his hands on a towel before coming to stand behind her and wrapping one arm around her neck, the other around her waist. "I think you only care about what makes me happy," he said, bringing his lips to her ear.

With a satisfied smile on her face, Elizabeth leaned back into his embrace. "And so does your dad. He's just proud of you. That's why he keeps talking about it."

"Uh-huh. So I need to work my ass off all day to get so much as a handshake from your dad, and you have mine all figured out in a matter of minutes?" Peter complained.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I told you I can ask my dad to be nicer next time."

"And I told you that I can't let you do that. If I had a daughter, I would put the fear of God in any boy or man who tried to take her away, too," Peter said matter-of-factly as if this was something he had given a lot of thought.

Elizabeth put a hand on the one that Peter had placed on her stomach to hold her to him. "I think you'd make a great dad," she said softly.

Peter's fingers curled around hers, but he didn't get to respond.

"You two are adorable, but are we ever going to have dinner tonight?" Robert pulled them both back out of their own little bubble.

They did in fact have dinner eventually, and Elizabeth enjoyed every minute of it. To Peter's slight dismay, he became the single topic of conversation when Robert started regaling Elizabeth with stories from Peter's childhood and adolescence. Even while she was shaking with laughter, she reached out to hold Peter's hand, which seemed to appease him a bit, and he stopped protesting in favor of seeing her so happy.

After dinner, Robert insisted on clearing the table on his own and shooed them away to "go be in love" as he put it.

"Come on," Peter said and led her up the stairs to the second floor.

"Are you bringing me up to your room to make out?" Elizabeth giggled.

Peter smirked. "I just thought I'd show it to you, but if you want to fool around, I'm game."

Elizabeth rested her head on his arm and laughed into his shoulder. "Did your dad ever catch you with a girl?"

"Once, but I think he actually saved me from a lot of embarrassment. I was tutoring this girl who was way out of my league, and I think the only reason she let me touch her was to get out of studying," Peter remembered.

"Or maybe she was really attracted to how smart and kind you were," Elizabeth hedged.

Peter snorted. "Try sixteen, hormonal, and awkward."

Elizabeth chuckled as he opened the door to what had to have been his room. It looked as if his father hadn't changed it much. There was a whole shelf with sports trophies Peter must have won, a couple of old books and CDs he hadn't seemed interested in taking with him, a small aquarium that was clean but didn't have any fish in it, and a few sports and band posters on the walls.

"What about you?" Peter asked while she looked around.

"Are you asking me if I was hormonal and awkward, too?" Elizabeth asked in return.

"I'm sure you were every bit as lovely as you are now," Peter replied, giving her an impish grin, and sat down on his old bed.

Elizabeth suppressed a smile and turned back towards inspecting the shelves.

"I meant did you ever bring boys home for your father to interrogate?"

"You do realize that you're the one who's actually interrogating people for a living?" Elizabeth asked.

"Only bad people," Peter amended.

"Well, some of those boys who I might have brought home with me had it coming," Elizabeth said with her eyes still on Peter's old things.

He leaned against his bed's headboard. "Did they make it out alive?"

"Yes, though Dad might have chased one out in his underwear."

Peter guffawed. "I'm beginning to think I should have thanked your sister for warning us your parents were about to show up."

"In my dad's defense, I was trying to be as mature about boys as my elder sister when I clearly wasn't. I needed him to make sure I had my head screwed on straight. I think every daughter needs that sometimes," Elizabeth said wistfully. "Why didn't you bring any of these when you moved out?" She pointed at the many trophies.

"I didn't think I would need them after I got drafted," Peter replied.

Elizabeth gave him a sad, sympathetic smile. "Is it hard for you to look at them?"

"No," Peter said, shaking his head. "Especially not right now," he added since Elizabeth was standing right between him and the trophies.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I was being serious."

"So was I," Peter insisted. "I have everything I need, even if the boy who used to sleep in this bed had different dreams."

"I think he would be very proud of the man he has become," Elizabeth said, slowly walking towards the bed to stand before him.

"He would be if he could see you standing here right now," Peter agreed with a cocky grin on his face as he reached out to wrap his arms around her, his hands sliding from the hollows of her knees up beneath the skirt of her dress all the way to cupping her backside.

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "Seems as if he's resurfacing just a little bit."

"Well, this is his old room, and I think it was you who brought up making out." Without warning Peter fell back onto the bed and took her with him.

Elizabeth yelped in surprise, but Peter made sure she landed safely in his arms, and his lips on hers felt too good to protest. "I was kidding, you know," she whispered meekly when he let her draw breath again.

"But there is something satisfying about having you in this bed." Peter was breathing her in, running his nose up and down her neck.

"Because I'm not just doing this so you'll teach me algebra?" Elizabeth chuckled.

"Because the kid in this room was too focused on playing baseball to think he could ever love anything more than that," Peter replied. "I'm glad I was wrong about that."

This time, it was Elizabeth who was in a hurry to start kissing him again, to let him know how madly he made her heart beat in her chest when he said things like that.

"I'm coming up the stairs," Robert Burke's voice suddenly floated up towards them. "So, Peter, I better not find you fondling my future daughter-in-law like a horny teenager!"

They both jumped apart in shock, and since her dress had ridden up all the way to her bellybutton, Elizabeth hurried to cover herself up again. Once they were both semi-decent, sitting on the edge of Peter's old bed, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. This situation was too silly for either one of them to tense up about the 'daughter-in-law' comment Peter's dad had made.

"Great, now my dad is coming down hard on me, too. How do you do that?" Peter whispered.

"It's not my fault that you Burke men can't seem to help falling in love with me," Elizabeth whispered back.

Peter looked at her intently. "Oh, I think it is."

Every part of her body all the way down to her toes tingled under his gaze, and Elizabeth pressed another quick kiss to his lips. "I love you, too, Peter Burke."

Then his father appeared in the doorway and decided not to comment any further on what they had been doing in here. He just held up a book. "Found this photo album downstairs. Want to have a look?"

Elizabeth's eyes lit up. "I would love to."

Peter groaned loudly. "Yeah, thanks, Dad."

"What are you complaining about, son?"

"Nothing. I'm sure looking at baby pictures of how you used to bathe me in the sink won't be embarrassing at all," Peter deadpanned.

Elizabeth put a hand on his knee. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine?" she offered. She really didn't want to do this if it made him feel this uncomfortable, even if he had nothing to worry about. Sharing parts of him with her, even embarrassing ones, could never make her love him less, quite the opposite really. She tried to make him understand that by giving his knee a gentle squeeze.

She could see Peter's resistance melt as he took her hand. "That I could live with."

A sudden flash startled them both. Robert had snapped a picture of them while they had been busy gazing into each other's eyes.

"Figured I need to add a few pictures to the family album soon," he said and winked at them.

* * *

 **A/N: Things are probably going to pick up speed from now on because Peter and El are just so much in love, I can't help it, and I'm in love with them and with your support for this story. Special thanks also to all the guests who've been reviewing since I can't reply to you directly. But your feedback always makes me smile.**


	11. Coming Home

**A/N: I feel like this chapter got away from me a little bit. I just kept adding to it until it got so long, I decided to split it in two parts. So here's the first one, and I'll have the second one up later this weekend. As always, thanks for your wonderful reviews!**

* * *

Peter drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at El. She was looking out the passenger window, though it was dark and there was nothing to see out there, and she didn't say anything. She had been like this all evening, despite the fact that they had gone to this hip, new live-cooking restaurant she had been talking about for weeks. They were almost back at her apartment now, and Peter was beginning to worry. During the entire drive, he had tried to figure out what he might have done wrong, but he kept coming up with nothing.

He wasn't bragging or anything, but things between them were good. More than that, actually. They had been seeing each other for almost six months now. Peter had no idea where the time had gone, but every minute he spent with Elizabeth felt like an eternity, and at the same time it wasn't nearly long enough. Work still got in the way every now and then, especially for him, but Elizabeth was being gracious about it. And she was up for a promotion from assistant manager to manager, so she was working just as hard.

Maybe that was it. Maybe something had happened at work. Or maybe he should have said something about their six-month anniversary coming up. Or maybe he still had no idea how to deal with women. Of course, he did not actually care about other women. He only cared about El. So he decided to man up and just take the plunge.

"Are you okay, honey?" he asked carefully. "You seem a little… distracted."

Elizabeth slowly tore her eyes away from the window to look at him, while Peter prayed that this wasn't going to blow up in his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the night," she said, reaching out to put a hand on his thigh.

Peter sighed in relief, but it was short-lived, because the troubled look on El's face was still there. "You didn't," he reassured her. "I just thought you'd be more excited about going to this restaurant."

"I was! That's why I didn't say anything earlier," Elizabeth said, only worrying Peter more.

"Didn't say anything about what?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Before you came by to pick me up tonight, I went through my mail and found a letter from my landlord. Apparently, there's water damage in the basement and they've found some kind of mold in the walls. They can't tell how extensive the damage is just yet, but they'll probably have to knock down some walls and replace parts of the foundation, so we all need to vacate our apartments as soon as possible and stay somewhere else for a while."

Peter wasn't sure what he had expected, but that wasn't it. "Can they just kick you out like that?" he wondered.

"Well, I guess no one actually wants to stay in a structurally unsound apartment," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Right," Peter said, parking the car in front of that very building. It didn't look like there was anything wrong with it, but of course you couldn't actually tell from the outside. Either way, he didn't want El to live some place where there was even the possibility of her getting hurt.

They got out of the car, though Peter was now wondering if they should just get back in and drive to his place.

Suddenly El grabbed his arm and stopped them on their way towards the front door. "Um, honey, do you remember when I told you about Josh calling me the other day?"

Peter was still reeling from the apartment news, so the sudden change of topic to her ex-boyfriend caught him even more off guard. "Yes, you said he called about one of his clients who might be interested in doing an exhibit at your gallery," he said slowly.

"Yes, he also tried to apologize to me," Elizabeth confessed.

"Apologize?" Peter repeated, his expression becoming guarded.

"I think his girlfriend broke up with him, which is something that never happened to him before, and it might have taught him a lesson or two," Elizabeth explained.

Peter couldn't have cared less about what happened to that guy as long as he stayed away from El. "Are you saying just because his girlfriend broke up with him, he thinks what? That he can get back together with you?"

"Something like that," Elizabeth nodded, and when Peter immediately bristled with anger, she added quickly. "I thanked him for the apology, but since I don't think the gallery would be a good fit for his client, I also told him goodbye. I thought that would be the end of it."

"But?" Peter prompted.

"But he's here," Elizabeth finished.

Peter whirled around in the direction El was facing, and sure enough, he spotted a guy who must have been waiting in a parked car. He had gotten out now and was hovering there, not sure whether to approach since El wasn't alone.

One of the first things recruits learned at Quantico was to keep a cool head and their tempers in check so they would stay in control of any given situation. By charging blindly ahead they would only end up hurting themselves or others. Peter had always been a reasonable guy and had easily excelled at that exercise.

But right now, he desperately wanted to reach for his gun and blast that guy's head off. Or even better, punch him in the face. To feel his nose break would be even more satisfying. In any case, the thought that this guy had been lurking in the dark to catch Elizabeth alone on her way home made Peter seethe with anger.

"He won't be here for much longer," he hissed.

But Elizabeth stopped him again. "Honey, no, I'll talk to him. And I want you to stay here."

"El…" Peter protested.

She put a hand on his chest to placate him, but it was her voice that did the trick. "Please, Peter." He could tell that she was serious about wanting to do this, and he knew it wasn't wise to push her.

He huffed to express his annoyance, but he gave her a curt nod and let her go.

When Elizabeth walked purposefully towards her ex-boyfriend, Peter followed her slowly, just enough to stay within earshot. He loved her enough to respect her wishes, but he also loved her too much to not stay close.

Now that Elizabeth was approaching him, Josh met her halfway. When they came to stand under one of the street lamps, Peter could see him more clearly. He had seen a picture of the guy before, but he really was extremely handsome. With a face like that, no wonder he thought he could get away with anything.

Peter was glad to hear that Elizabeth's voice sounded unimpressed when she asked, "What are you doing here, Josh?"

"I wanted to talk to you in person," he explained unnecessarily as he rubbed his gloveless hands together. It had gotten cold at night lately, and who knew how long he had been sitting in his car waiting. Then again, even frostbite was too good for this guy.

"I'm sorry, but we have nothing to talk about anymore," Elizabeth said firmly.

Josh took a step closer, which made Peter curl his hands into fists, but he forced himself to stay put. "I told you I'm sorry…"

Elizabeth wouldn't even let him finish. "I appreciate that. And I really hope you'll find someone, Josh, and that you'll treat them better, but it won't be me."

"Because of him?" Josh asked, nodding in Peter's direction. Peter ducked his head a little, worried El might turn around and see that he was closer than she had wanted him to be.

But she stayed focused on Josh. "Yes. Among other things."

"You can do so much better than him, Liz."

Peter tensed, not because of the insult, but because the nickname reminded him of the intimacy that Elizabeth had once shared with that man.

"You mean with you?" she asked.

"Yes, with me. We were so good together, Liz. You remember that, right?" Josh reached out for her with his hands, but Elizabeth took a step back.

It was nearly impossible for Peter not to intervene.

"I remember. I also remember how you made me feel like a fool for not figuring out sooner that you were cheating on me. You say you've changed, and I hope that's true. But I would never be able to trust you the way I trust Peter. Not that it's any of your business, but I love him. So if you really still care about me, just walk away, Josh, and find your happiness with someone else."

Apparently, that was all El had been meaning to say. So when Josh didn't know how to respond, she finally turned her back on him, willing to put an end to this.

Josh wasn't so smart. "No, Liz, wait…" he began and grabbed her arm to pull her back towards him.

He never got any further than that because Peter had reached the end of his tether. When El stumbled, surprised by Josh's hold on her arm, Peter was in his face in an instant. He was careful, though, not to touch Josh because then he would have ripped him to shreds.

"You have five seconds before I have you arrested," he snarled.

"You think I believe you'd actually call the cops?" Josh said dismissively, but he let go of Elizabeth and took a step back so Peter wouldn't tower over him.

"I don't need to call the cops." Peter showed him his badge, which he always had on him, even on date night.

Josh paled when he realized that he was dealing with a federal agent. "There's no law against talking to my ex-girlfriend," he still tried to defend himself.

"But she asked you not to contact her again when you called her, and you came here tonight to ambush her anyway. That's stalking. And then you grabbed her when she tried to leave. That's assault. And there's an FBI agent as an eye witness. Do you need me to spell that out for you or are you going to get the hell out of here?"

Josh glanced at Elizabeth one more time, but he was obviously worried that Peter might not be bluffing.

He wasn't. He might have exaggerated slightly, but that wouldn't stop him from having Josh thrown into jail for the night. Clearly, he wasn't the kind of man who would do well behind bars.

"Fine. I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, Liz," Josh said before beating a hasty retreat.

Peter turned around and put an arm around El. "Come on. Let's get inside." They had been standing out here in the cold for long enough. He really wanted to get El back inside. Her apartment might not be structurally sound, but at least it was free of her ex-boyfriends.

As soon as they were back inside the apartment, Peter quickly walked up to the living-room window that faced the street.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked.

"Making sure he's gone," Peter replied, feeling satisfied when it looked like he was. "Where's your phone?"

"Why?" Elizabeth asked again, this time also crossing her arms, which should have stopped him in his tracks.

"I'm getting you a couple of agents to sit outside in case he comes back," Peter went ahead and grabbed the phone when he spotted it.

Elizabeth snatched it right back out of his hands. "No, you're not. I don't need a bunch of trigger-happy FBI agents outside my home. The one I have in it is more than enough."

Finally, it registered with Peter that Elizabeth didn't look happy. "El…"

"I asked you to let me take care of this," she reminded him pointedly.

"I did!" Peter insisted.

El pursed her lips. She didn't even need to say anything. That look alone was terrifying enough.

"He wasn't listening to you, and he was hurting you. El, you can't expect me to just let him do that to you," Peter pleaded with her.

She held his gaze for a few seconds, then her stance softened. "Fine, but you're still not getting me a protection detail. You're the only FBI agent I want protecting me."

Peter couldn't help the smile on his face when she said that, but he also furrowed his brow. "What about when I'm at work?"

"He's not a psychopath, Peter!" El said, sounding exasperated again. "He's a cheater, and he's very full of himself sometimes, but he's never hurt anyone physically."

"His juvie record says something else," Peter disagreed.

The deep frown on El's face told him that he had just made another mistake. "What? How do you even know that he has a juvie record? He never told me that."

"I guess that's not something you talk about to impress women," Peter shrugged.

"Then how do you know about it?"

Peter hesitated. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Lying wasn't an option, but he had a feeling that the truth wouldn't go over well either. "I did a background check on him."

Elizabeth stared at him. "Are you even allowed to do that? You're not investigating him for anything." She almost sounded worried, which Peter hoped was a good sign.

"I'm allowed, as long as no one finds out or calls it an abuse of my powers."

El shook her head. "Why would you take that risk? Before tonight there was no reason to think he would ever even try to talk to me again."

"I did it months ago with the rest of them."

El's eyebrows shot up. "The rest of them?"

Peter froze.

"Who else did you check out?"

He didn't dare answer right away.

"Who else?" Elizabeth prompted.

"Everyone," Peter confessed. "Everyone of importance in your life. But El, I wasn't snooping or planning on using any of the information. I was only looking for warning signs. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." He reached out for her, but she took a step back and held up her hands, almost exactly as she had done with Josh earlier, which hurt more than anything else.

"Did you check out my family, too? Did you honestly think they would hurt me?"

"Of course not. But it's not about that. It's about being proactive and covering all the bases. Everyone can lament a catastrophe after it's happened, but the really good agents step in and stop it from even happening in the first place…"

"My life is not just another one of your cases, Peter!" Elizabeth cut him off, too upset to fully hear him out.

"I know that. You're not 'just' anything, El. You're it for me. It's you, there's only you. That's why I need you to be safe." Peter wanted to push more, to explain more, but he was afraid to.

Still, he thought he saw El's anger cave a little. "So do I. I need you to be safe, too. What insurances do I get that you'll come back to me when you go out there with your gun and your badge and people shooting at you?"

Slightly confused by the turn this argument had just taken, Peter hesitated. "Do you want to run background checks on everyone in my life, too?" He didn't want to joke about this, but he didn't know what else to say.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I want you to trust me the way that I trust you."

Her words reminded him of something she had said earlier to Josh, and Peter had a feeling that his had all been blown out of proportion because a part of her was understandably upset about her ex after all.

Peter tried to move in closer again, and this time, she let him take her hands. "I trust you, El. Checking out Josh was about not trusting the rest of the world to be as kind and forgiving as you are. But I trust you. I…" He paused. "Move in with me."

"What?"

"I mean, temporarily – while your apartment is getting fixed," Peter clarified nervously when he saw the surprise on El's face. He could have sworn this was what she had wanted earlier. Then again, a lot seemed to have happened since then.

"Are you sure? There's no timetable for how long this is going to take," she said cautiously.

The last of her anger seemed to have faded from her eyes, and, feeling more sure by the minute that this was the right thing to do, Peter continued. "I love you, El. I didn't mean to be overbearingly protective, but if you'll forgive me, I'd like nothing more than for you to stay with me while your apartment is getting fixed. It's the best insurance I can give you that I'll always be coming home to you."

Finally, the smile that had eluded him for most of the night returned to her face. "Coming home to you sounds nice," she said softly and weaved her fingers through his. "Yes, Peter, I'd love to temporarily move in with you."

Peter answered her smile with one of his own and leaned in to finally kiss her. "Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"You will be. After you've carried all my boxes over to your place." Elizabeth patted his cheek, smiled, and then disappeared into her bedroom.

"Boxes? As in plural? How many are we talking exactly?" Peter called after her.

All he got in return was a laugh.

* * *

Somewhat helplessly, Peter stared at his closet. This wasn't something he usually spent a lot of time on, but this morning, getting dressed proved to be a little more challenging. Eventually, he just gave up.

"El?" he called.

"Yes, honey?" The sweetness in her voice told Peter that she already knew what he was going to ask.

"Do you happen to know where all my shirts are? Or socks, or anything, for that matter?"

El appeared in the doorway. "Yes, I moved them over to the dresser."

With a frown on his face, Peter looked over his shoulder. He had no idea that he even had a dresser, but sure enough, there it was. There was even a framed picture of him and El, taken at the FBI Family Day this summer, and some other knickknacks neatly arranged on top of it. He must have missed that when he came in late last night.

"Do you like it?" Elizabeth asked, following his gaze.

Peter was pretty sure there was only one right answer. "Um, yes," he said, and he really did like the photo. He had been sitting on a bench, and El had wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, surprising him. The smile on her face was mesmerizing, and he looked as if it had just dawned on him that he was the luckiest guy on the planet.

It reminded him to treat with caution when he asked, "What was wrong with where everything was before?"

Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "I brought a few more clothes over, so I had to move a couple of things around."

"More clothes? How can there be anything left?" It felt to Peter as if she had brought nothing but clothes. Dozens of boxes full of them.

"You do like the way I look, don't you?" El countered. She was leaning against the door, looking as lovely as ever in a long cream-colored sweater that hugged her small frame in all the right places.

"That feels like a trick question," Peter replied.

El's blue eyes bore into him. "It's not."

"Then yes, of course, I do. You know that," he said quickly. "I just didn't realize you needed so much space to look good." He paused. "That came out wrong. I mean, you always look good – with your clothes on or without them."

El rolled her eyes. "Honey, just stop talking and get dressed," she said, turning around to leave.

With two quick steps Peter caught up with her and he grabbed her around the waist. "Or maybe you should get undressed with me," he suggested as he started kissing his way down her neck.

Her surprised laughter was music in his ears, and they spent the time they would have had for breakfast in other more enjoyable ways.

Afterwards, they both had to get dressed again. Peter helped El to close a necklace in the back of her neck and El turned around to straighten his tie. "Will you be home for dinner tonight?" she asked.

Rather than answer her right away, Peter just stood there, taking it all in.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nothing. This just all feels very... domestic."

El bit her lip. It was cute when she worried like that. "Is it too much? I know we said this was going to be temporary..."

That new dresser didn't look very temporary to Peter. But he kept that thought to himself and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Nope, I like being domestic with you."

"In that case, I want you to be home by seven so we can have our first dinner together since I moved in," El said with a slightly mocking smile.

"Would you also like me to take out the trash?" Peter asked, matching her tone.

"Of course. And remember to pick up the dry cleaning like I asked you to."

Peter frowned. "You never asked me to pick up the dry cleaning."

"Just checking," Elizabeth chuckled, gave him a kiss, and then slipped out of his arms into the kitchen.

Peter followed her and, all kidding aside, he really did decide to take out the garbage bag and put it in the hallway so he wouldn't forget it later. Just to be on the safe side. Something inside the bag caught his attention, though.

"Those are my socks!" he said, a hint of indignation in his voice when he looked at El, who was leaning against the kitchen counter with a steaming mug in her hand.

"Oh, honey, they had holes in them," she replied, unfazed by his tone.

Right, Peter dimly remembered thinking that he should get new ones. But now a little suspicious, he spotted something else, too. "What about that tie? That tie was perfectly fine!"

"It had green polka dots on it and matched none of your suits," Elizabeth said, not sounding sorry about that one either.

"What about this tie? And this suit?" Peter asked, pointing to what he was wearing right now. "Am I allowed to go into work like this?"

"Honey, I threw out an ugly tie and a bunch of old socks. It doesn't mean that I don't think you look sexy – even while you're standing in the kitchen obsessing over the garbage bag," Elizabeth told him amidst barely contained laughter.

Peter dropped the bag. "Sexy, huh?"

"Yes, but honey, please wash your hands first," El said, shying away from him when he tried to get close to her. "Here, have a drink. It'll make you feel better about losing that tie."

She chuckled and handed him her mug.

Unable to really be upset about her teasing, especially when her eyes sparkled with so much joy, Peter took a sip. He almost spit it back out, though. "Urgh, honey, this is not coffee!"

"No, it's green tea. It's good for you."

Peter made a face. "Tell me you didn't throw out the coffee, too."

Wordlessly, El reached behind her to offer him a second mug. To his relief, this one smelled like coffee and tasted like it, too.

El shook her head when she saw the look on his face while he drank it, but she smiled and took back her strange tea.

Things were definitely going to change with El moving in, Peter realized. He would probably have to surrender his entire closet and all his kitchen cupboards, not to mention the shelves in the bathroom, to her control. Actually, he probably already had.

But he didn't mind as long as he got her smile in return.

Well, her and a cup of coffee in the morning.

* * *

Peter closed the door behind him with a thud and absentmindedly dropped his keys before he remembered how late it was and that he wasn't the only one living in this apartment anymore. He couldn't keep waltzing in here as if there was no one he could wake other than the neighbors.

He took more care when he hung up his jacket and took off his shoes, but he saw that the lights were still on in the living room anyway. When Peter walked in, his eyes went to the dinner table first, and he moaned. He had called Elizabeth earlier to let her know that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to be home by seven. But the table was still set for two with an elaborate dinner that looked untouched. Peter could only hope that it wasn't a bad sign that their designated first dinner together since moving in had met such a sad end.

Heaving a sigh, he turned to look for El. She had fallen asleep on the couch, using a book she had been reading as a pillow, which looked rather uncomfortable. Peter crouched down next to her and gently brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "El, honey…"

She stirred and brightened when he came into focus. "Oh, hey."

He helped her sit back up. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I wanted to wait up for you."

Peter glanced at the dinner table again. "I'm so sorry about dinner." He should probably copyright that sentence.

El simply shook her head. "Are you okay? You sounded a little… off on the phone earlier."

He had tried to hide it from her, but she knew him so well by now. Usually, that made him happy, but tonight he wished he could shield her from it. Since he couldn't, he dropped down on the couch next to her and ran a hand over his face.

"Yeah, it's been one hell of a day." As soon as Peter had left the apartment after the great morning he'd had with El, everything had taken a turn for the worse. He should have just stayed in with her. "I tried to get home earlier, but I got stuck with OPR."

"OPR? Isn't that the FBI's version of internal affairs?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes shining with concern. "What happened?"

Peter hesitated. He really didn't want to burden or frighten her, but at the same time, he felt the overwhelming need to unburden himself by sharing this with her. And he could tell from the look on her face that she wanted him to. "I shot someone today."

El inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with one hand before she pushed her shock aside enough to reach out for him. "Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Peter assured her quickly and squeezed her hands. "No agents got hurt." Not seriously, anyway.

El looked at their intertwined fingers and took another deep breath before she met his eyes again. "How did it happen?"

"Hughes brought me in on a taskforce to take down this gang who's been circulating fake watches, real quality work, going for 500 a pop. He went undercover to make the bust, a couple of other agents and I were providing backup. But somehow, someone had tipped them off. They saw us coming. One of them pulled a gun on me, and I had to take the shot. It all happened way too fast."

El struggled not to allow her worry to get the better of her while she listened, both fear and relief reflected on her face. To her credit, her voice sounded firm when she said, "Then you didn't have a choice. Why did OPR investigate?"

"Well, obviously somebody screwed up something. They had to make sure it wasn't any of us. Plus, it's protocol when we're forced to discharge our weapons and use lethal force. Everything needs to check out. And then they put you through another psych eval. It's a lot more bureaucracy than it looks like on TV."

"I'm so sorry, honey," El said softly, cupping his cheek.

Peter relished her warmth, then he took her hand and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to her knuckles. "It was either him or me, and I really didn't want it to be me."

That's what it all came down to. And while the life he had taken today weighed on him, sitting here with El made him realize that he would make the same choice all over again.

"Do you need anything?" El asked. She straightened up a little and looked determined to make this better for him, ignoring her own fears. Peter loved her all the more for it. "I can heat up dinner," she offered.

"Thanks, honey, but I have everything I need," he told her, managing a small smile. "Dinner looks amazing, though. Sorry I missed it. Guess I need to work on being a good roommate."

"It's okay. I invited my other boyfriend to eat with me," El joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Peter gladly followed her lead. "Other boyfriend, huh? What happened to him?"

El shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. "It didn't work out. My heart belongs to another."

"Yeah, and who's that?" Peter asked, leaning in.

"He's this wonderful, loving, very, very brave man," Elizabeth replied, any traces of humor gone.

Peter smiled before he gently caught her lips with his own in a tender kiss that righted his world again. Then he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm really glad you're here, El. I love coming home to you."

"I love you coming home to me," she replied, her voice catching a little when she probably wondered how close they had come to him not coming home at all.

Peter pulled her into his arms.

It would do both of them good tonight to just hold each other.


	12. to You

Elizabeth had always thought that Peter's apartment had a lot of potential. The layout was generous, the kitchen offered lots of room for cooking, and the balcony was a luxury in itself. Even though her moving in with him had been sudden and entirely unexpected, not to mention – as she constantly forgot to remind herself – a temporary solution, she had felt right at home. Mostly because of Peter, of course, but also because she had been waiting to get a chance to spruce up the place.

The only thing she couldn't fix, at least not right away, was that the apartment didn't have its own washing machine. So Elizabeth was spending Sunday afternoon in the building's laundry room, rechecking her laundry basket because she had already spotted one of Peter's white socks in between all the colored clothes.

She was still looking for stray socks when someone set down their laundry basket on the machine next to her with a cheerful "Hi."

It was a guy, who looked to be about her age with blue eyes and messy blonde hair, whom she had never seen before. Then again, she hadn't really met any of the neighbors yet. Elizabeth smiled hello and began loading her machine.

"Are you new here? I don't think I've seen you before," the guy kept talking while he sorted his own clothes.

Elizabeth decided not to go into any of the details. "I just moved in," she said simply.

"Welcome to the building. I'm Kent," he introduced himself.

"Elizabeth," she gave him her name since it seemed rude not to.

"You like it here?"

She hesitated, not sure if she wanted to encourage him to continue this conversation. But she also didn't want to offend any of her new neighbors for no reason, temporary or not. Though she was pretty sure that Peter – being at work most of the time – didn't know any of them. Unless of course, he had run background checks on all of them, too, when she had moved in. But Kent didn't look dangerous to her.

"Yes, it's nice."

"It is. The landlord is a really nice guy, too. Didn't kick me out when I couldn't make the rent one month."

Elizabeth didn't really know what to say to that. Clearly, this Kent guy wasn't a very private person. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No worries. I'm a musician. It's what I signed up for, right?" He shrugged.

He really seemed keen on sharing. Or maybe, he was just trying to be nice. Being with an FBI agent who was naturally suspicious of everyone must have been rubbing off on her. Elizabeth had never been this guarded before. So she put a smile on her face and asked, "Really? What instrument are you playing?"

"I can't tell you that. You're going to laugh," Kent said, shaking his head.

El had finished loading up her machine, hit start, and then leaned against it. "Try me."

"All right. I play the saxophone," he confessed.

"Oh, I love the saxophone!" El blurted out because she couldn't help herself when it came to the kind of music she liked and couldn't share with Peter.

Kent seemed positively surprised by her sudden interest. "Do you play?"

"No, I just like to listen to it. I love jazz."

"No way!" Kent said a little too forcefully. "Sorry, that's just not the reaction I usually get from women. Especially not if they look as beautiful as you."

It was a sweet compliment, but unfortunately this had just crossed the line from a friendly neighborly conversation to something else. Something Elizabeth had no interest in – no matter how much she would have liked to talk about jazz with someone who actually appreciated it and wasn't merely trying to humor her (and not doing a very good job of it).

Thankfully, the dryer chose this particular moment to signal that it was done with the load Elizabeth had done earlier. That gave her an excuse to back out of the conversation and turn around. She took out the dry sheets, linens, and towels and put them back in her basket where they joined Peter's lone sock. Then she checked on the washing machine one more time before picking up her basket.

"It was nice to meet you, Kent. Good luck with your music," she said and then walked out without waiting for a response, hoping he would get the message. She didn't want things to be awkward if they ran into each other again.

When she got back upstairs and reentered the apartment, Peter was still watching the Giants game. He had been called in to work on weekends so often lately, he deserved to spend a Sunday afternoon on the couch. Seeing her carry the laundry basket seemed to make him feel bad, though, because he got to his feet and intercepted her before she could enter the bedroom.

"Honey, let me do that," he said, taking the basket from her.

"Are you sure you know how to fold these?" Elizabeth asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I don't think they teach that at Quantico."

"Oh, very funny. I'll have you know that I'm fully capable of doing my own laundry."

"Yeah? Then what was this doing in between the colors?" Elizabeth held up his white sock.

Peter made a face. "It was probably hiding, scared you might throw it out, too."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but she couldn't keep a smile off her face entirely. "Fine, the laundry's all yours then," she said and let him steal a kiss when he walked past her into the bedroom.

She made a beeline for the TV and saw that the Giants were getting a serious beating today. That explained why Peter had been so eager to help out with the laundry. Elizabeth wasn't interested in watching that either, so she turned her back on the TV and put a kettle on the stove in the kitchen to make some tea.

"Um, honey, are we planning on going out tonight?" Peter called from the bedroom.

"No, why?"

He walked up to her and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Because I found this in the laundry basket."

He handed her a little piece of paper with a handwritten note on it that said, _"Montgomery's, 9 p.m., I'm playing tonight."_

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"What's so funny?" Peter asked, his brow furrowing.

"I might have accidentally flirted with one of your neighbors down in the laundry room," Elizabeth confessed.

Peter's frown deepened. "What?"

"He came in and started talking to me. I was just trying to be nice until he came on to me. Then I left. He must have slipped that in while I was checking the washing machine," Elizabeth recalled what had happened. "That's actually kind of cute," she said. When she saw the look on Peter's face, she added, "Or it would be if I were single, which I'm not."

"Did you tell him that?" Peter asked.

"No, unlike him, I didn't feel the need to share my personal information with him." Clearly, she had made an impression anyway.

Peter seemed to think the same thing. "How do you even 'accidentally' flirt with someone?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Just because you hate it doesn't mean the rest of the world does, too."

A little miffed, Peter shook his head. "You're awfully pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

"Well, he did tell me I was beautiful," she teased.

"I tell you that all the time," Peter said and he actually looked a little disheartened. It made Elizabeth realize that this was a lot funnier for her than it was for him.

So she stopped grinning and threw away the note. "And you're the only one who can actually make me believe it," she said and stood on her toes to give Peter a kiss.

He relaxed and held her to him until the kettle started whistling and she needed to take it off the stove.

Peter just stood there and watched while she made the tea. "Are you done with the laundry already?" Elizabeth asked him eventually.

"No, just wondering what else I might find in there."

Elizabeth laughed. "Honey, go back to watching the game. I'll finish the laundry."

He thought about that offer for a moment and probably decided that he didn't feel guilty anymore after this little incident. In any case, he went to sit back down on the couch.

Before Elizabeth could go into the bedroom, the phone rang. It was lying on the kitchen island where she must have left it after talking to her mom this morning. So she picked it up to answer. "Hello?"

There was a moment of hesitation on the other end before a woman said, _"Um, hello, I was calling for Peter."_

"Of course, he's here. Who's this?" Elizabeth asked, curiously biting her lip. She had never heard that woman's voice before.

" _It's Rachel,"_ was the only and rather unhelpful answer she got.

Elizabeth walked over to the couch and held out the phone to Peter. "It's for you. She says her name is Rachel," she told him as casually as possible.

"Okay, thanks, El," Peter said and took the phone. He definitely seemed to recognize the name.

She was sorely tempted to stay and listen, but she made herself grab her cup of tea and take it back with her to the bedroom to finish the laundry.

Barely a minute later, Peter came in to grab his gun and badge. "Sorry, honey. I have to go to work for a bit."

"Oh, okay…" Elizabeth didn't get to say or ask anything else.

Peter just pecked her on the cheek, and then he was gone.

And Elizabeth still had no idea who this Rachel was. He had never mentioned an agent with that name before, but she sure seemed to know him since she had called him Peter, not Agent Burke. And he also hadn't bothered to put on a suit before leaving.

Elizabeth chuckled darkly when she realized that now that the tables had turned, she was getting worked up, too. It wasn't even really about this Rachel. Sure, she was curious, but not because she didn't trust Peter. Because she hated not knowing. His job was a big part of his life, and Elizabeth hated that she was completely cut off from that side of him. And the whole thing with the shooting incident hadn't exactly helped either.

What she needed was a distraction. So after finishing with the fresh laundry and later with the second load (thankfully without running into Kent again), Elizabeth settled on the couch with a book. Before long she was completely lost in the pages, trying her best to get her mind off Peter.

It worked. It worked so well that she flinched when Peter suddenly leaned over the sofa from behind her. She hadn't even heard him come back in. Elizabeth wanted to turn around to greet him, but he was dangling something in front of her face. It was a slim necklace with a small stone on it.

"It's your birthstone. And it's purple, which is your favorite color," Peter explained with a satisfied smile.

"I know that," Elizabeth laughed, trying to overcome her surprise. "What's this for?" she asked after Peter had dropped it into her open palm.

He came around the couch to sit next to her. "To say sorry for all the times I'm running out of here without warning or coming home late. Rachel suggested it, actually."

Elizabeth's eyes darted from the necklace back to Peter. "Okay, who is this Rachel?"

"She's a witness in this new case I'm working," he replied, looking just a little bit smug, which she would let him get away with because of what had happened this afternoon. "She's a very nice, old lady, but she lives alone, so I gave her this number to call in case something happened during the weekend."

"Oh, and is she okay now?" Elizabeth worried.

"Yes, it was just a false alarm. But I convinced NYPD to park a unit outside her house anyway," Peter told her.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. She hated the feeling of Peter walking out the door, but she loved all the good he was doing while he was gone. And she shouldn't have expected anything less than that. "How does Rachel even know about me?" she asked, weighing the necklace in her hand – the necklace that she at least partly owed to that woman's interference.

"I told her about you."

"You told a witness on your case about me?" It caught her by surprise since he was usually so concerned for her safety. Then again, even Peter couldn't make an elderly woman into a threat.

"She's a very inquisitive woman, and after she had talked to you on the phone, she wouldn't stop until I showed her a picture," Peter explained. "And apparently, she makes jewelry and thinks I'm an idiot because I have never given you any. So I was hoping you'd let me correct that oversight?" he asked and took the necklace out of her hand again.

With a smile, Elizabeth lifted her hair so Peter could clasp the necklace around her neck. Then she looked down on it and rested a hand on the glittering purple stone. "It's beautiful, Peter."

"Just like you," he said, his eyes travelling from the necklace back up to her face. "Unless you need your laundry boyfriend to confirm that…"

Elizabeth hushed him by taking his face in her hands to kiss him until they ran out of air.

The look on Peter's face was somewhat unfocused after that, but he asked, "So, did I miss dinner again?"

"I didn't make any. I was too distracted," Elizabeth admitted.

"Honey, you weren't actually worried?" Peter asked, not the least bit smug anymore. "You know I would never..."

"Cheat on me?" she finished his sentence. "I know. But waiting for you here in your apartment, surrounded by everything that reminds me of you, it makes it worse. Thinking about what could happen…"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing's going to happen."

"You did shoot someone the other day," Elizabeth reminded him.

"That was an isolated incident where a lot of things went wrong," Peter insisted. "And more importantly, this isn't just my apartment. It's our apartment now."

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes probably as bright as the amethyst around her neck. "Then let's go into our kitchen and make dinner together."

* * *

"El?" Peter called as soon as he was through the apartment door. He was in a good mood because it was barely four in the afternoon and he had made it home from work already. And since El had the day off, they could do any number of things they usually didn't have time for during the week.

In response, Peter heard a yelp and the sound of something toppling over, followed by a thud that tied his stomach up in knots. Without bothering to hang up his jacket or take off his shoes (he was willing to risk El's displeasure if it turned out he was wrong about what he had heard), he sprinted into the living room.

His cheerfulness faded quickly when he found El on the floor, buried underneath a chair and a curtain she must have been in the process of putting up. "El! Honey, are you okay?" he asked, kneeling next to her.

"I think so," she nodded after he had helped her sit up and free herself of the curtain.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked, gently cupping her face. Her expression still looked pained. "I didn't mean to startle you."

But El seemed more upset with herself than any lingering effects of her fall. "It's not your fault. I just lost my balance. This is heavier than it looks." She patted the curtain, shook her head as if to shake off the pain, and then looked at him, managing a small smile. "I didn't think you'd be home this early."

"I wanted to surprise you," Peter said. "Not quite like this, though."

"I'll take it anyway," El said and leaned in for a quick kiss.

Relieved that she seemed fine, Peter stood and pulled her up with him. El gasped and slumped in his arms, tears springing to her eyes.

"El, what's wrong?" He asked urgently and helped her over to the couch.

"It's my right foot. I can't put any weight on it," she admitted, struggling to keep the pain out of her voice.

Peter lifted her leg up on the couch and removed her sock from her foot as carefully as he could, but El still winced sharply. Her ankle was a little red, and Peter thought he could see the beginnings of a swelling. Otherwise it looked fine, but he knew from experience that didn't mean anything. She could have torn a ligament or even be dealing with a bone fracture. Only an X-ray would be able to tell. The only thing Peter could tell was that El was in pain. One of the tears that had pooled in her eyes had quietly spilled over, though she wiped it away quickly.

She was trying to put on a brave face, but Peter wasn't fooled, and he also wasn't going to wait around to see if this got any worse. He got up and grabbed an ice pack from the freezer. He put it in a towel and then wrapped that around El's ankle. She hissed, this time more from the cold than the pain.

"I'm sorry, honey. I know it's uncomfortable, but it's important to keep the swelling down," Peter apologized.

"You seem to know a lot about this," El commented, most likely to distract herself.

Peter nodded. "It's been a while, but I had my fair share of injuries like this one."

"Probably not from hanging up new curtains." El chuckled darkly.

"No, not really." He sighed and took her hand. "Honey, why didn't you ask me to help you?"

El shrugged. "I wanted them to be up when you came home. I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"You mean, you didn't want me to point out that the curtains that were already there were perfectly fine," Peter guessed.

"The fact that you think that, honey, is the reason I didn't ask," El said, patting his hand.

"At least my curtains didn't try to kill you," Peter muttered.

"Oh, come on. I twisted my ankle. I'm not dying." To make her point, she wiggled her foot – and whimpered when the pain shot up her leg.

Peter had had enough. He went back into the hallway to grab her coat and at least one shoe.

"What are you doing?" El asked when he returned to the living room.

"Getting you to the hospital," he replied, holding her coat out to her so she could slip her arms inside.

She opened her mouth to protest, but his concern was probably written all over his face, so she didn't. Once El was all buttoned up and had slipped at least the one shoe on, Peter put one arm around her back, the other under her legs, and gently lifted her into his arms to carry her out of the apartment.

El smirked despite her discomfort. "You don't think this is a bit much?"

"Were you planning on walking to the car?" Peter asked, trying to control his breathing as he carried her down the stairs.

"I could at least hobble on my good foot," El suggested.

Peter shook his head. "You'd still be moving the other one. You'd be in pain."

"I can take it," she promised.

Peter didn't even bother to pretend. "I can't."

El smiled softly and reached up to caress his cheek. "I'm sorry, Peter."

"For what?" he asked, confused.

"For making you spend your free afternoon at the hospital with me because of a couple of silly curtains."

"In sickness and in health, right?" he said without thinking.

El's eyes widened, but her expression quickly softened again. "If you hadn't just carried me over the threshold out of the house rather than into it, I might think you're trying to tell me something."

They had reached the car, and Peter managed to open the backdoor. "I'm putting you in the back so you can stretch your legs," he said, ducking inside the car to set her down on the rear bench seats. Then he hovered over her and added, "And for the record, this is not how I would do it."

El's breath caught in her throat. "How would you do it?"

Peter thought about that for all of five seconds before he decided that he would absolutely not go there now. The sickness-and-health thing had just slipped out, really. "It definitely wouldn't have anything to do with silly curtains." He grinned, kissed her on the nose, and then ducked out of the car to circle round it and get behind the wheel.

When they got to the hospital, they settled in for a long wait since El wasn't considered an emergency. Compared to the man who had a screwdriver sticking out of his forehead or the pregnant woman who wailed at the top of her lungs that she was going to kill her husband, Peter was forced to agree. He also hoped those two incidents weren't in any way related.

Eventually, someone took El for an X-ray, and afterwards they got to wait in the privacy of an exam room, El sitting on the bed, Peter standing next to it. The doctor who came in looked to be about fifty or so, and she smiled kindly at them.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Koralewski, but everybody just calls me Dr. K, so feel free to do the same," she said. She clearly had a way of putting her patients at ease.

After checking the X-rays, she sat on a stool and rolled over to the foot of the bed to examine El's ankle. "So how did this happen?"

"I was trying to put up new curtains and fell," El replied. After all this waiting, she seemed even more upset with herself than before.

So Peter decided to take some of the blame and added, "When I came home and distracted you."

"Sounds like you should wait for your husband to help you next time," the doctor commented.

"Oh, we're not married," El corrected her kindly.

Doctor K looked up with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I just assumed."

"That's okay," El said, smiling back at her, and this time, it was Peter who wondered if she was trying to tell him something. But she seemed focused on the doc. "We just moved in together, actually. Temporarily at least, while they're doing some work on my apartment."

"And you were _temporarily_ hanging up new curtains?" Doctor K quirked an eyebrow before she returned her focus to El's foot. "Does this hurt?" she asked while gently pressing around the ankle.

El gritted her teeth and gave a curt nod. Still, she said rather fiercely, "Trust me. Those curtains needed to go. Even if Peter will tell you differently."

"I see. How's this?" Doctor K slightly moved her ankle to the in- and outside.

This time, El winced in pain, and Peter stepped closer to take her hand and distract her. "Honey, I told you, you can renovate the entire place if it makes you happy. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"And I told you that I won't die from an ankle sprain."

"Don't even joke about that. From now on, you're forbidden from even stubbing a toe," Peter told her. He knew he couldn't protect her from all the possible ways she could get hurt again, but he honestly wished he could.

El laughed. "As long as the same goes for you, Mr. FBI."

Since he could promise her that even less, Peter just leaned in for a quick kiss.

Dr. K had watched them with amusement and got up from her chair now. "The good news is nothing's broken, but you are dealing with a partial tear. Still, it could have been a lot worse. I'll send in an intern to bandage your foot and get you some crutches. Then I want you to go home and rest. Don't walk, don't put any weight on your foot, and keep it elevated for at least 48 hours. And keep cooling it, too. Once the swelling goes down, you can start moving it again and put some weight on it. If the pain gets worse or the swelling doesn't recede, come back in. But I think as long as you don't try to put up any more curtains, you'll be fine."

El smiled. "Thanks, Doctor."

"My pleasure," Dr. K said and shook both of their hands before she headed for the door. "Oh, and one more piece of advice, if I may? You two clearly don't need two apartments." She winked at them and left.

"Huh, I didn't know my health insurance covered relationship advice, too," El chuckled.

"Did you hear what else she said? No more putting up curtains," Peter said.

El narrowed her eyes. "Actually, she only said that _I_ shouldn't try to hang up any more curtains. She didn't say that you couldn't do it for me."

The intern Dr. K had promised to send entered the room and spared Peter the need to respond.

With a bandaged foot and on crutches, El was able to leave the hospital half an hour later. And she insisted on using those crutches, too. Maybe it had something to do with the joke she had made about carrying her over the threshold, but Peter didn't dare protest.

Until they were actually back inside the apartment. Then he put those crutches away, settled El on the couch, propped up her foot on some cushions, brought her a fresh ice pack and some tea, and wrapped her in a blanket for good measure.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked her.

El's smile was angelic. "Very."

"Do you need anything else?"

Within seconds, El's smile became slightly more diabolical, and she pointedly looked at the curtains that had been left on the floor.

Peter sighed. "You're lucky I love you so much."

"I know," El said sweetly.

So Peter went to work and finally put up those damn curtains – with a little bit of helpful and sometimes unhelpful advice from El. When he stood back to admire his handiwork, he had to admit that they looked good. But he still didn't quite understand what had been so wrong about the old ones. As long as El was happy, though, he supposed it was worth it.

Speaking of which, he turned back around to look at her. "What would you like me to do now?" he asked in mock surrender.

"Come here," El said.

Peter walked over to the couch, and as soon as she could reach him, El grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a deep kiss. He had to grab the back of the couch for support so he wouldn't fall on her and accidentally jostle her leg.

"Thank you," she whispered against his lips. "Now come sit with me, please."

Gladly, Peter sat down, and when they had found a comfortable position that allowed for El to keep her foot up and rest her head against his chest, they picked a movie to watch together. It didn't take long until El was fast asleep.

Peter smiled to himself and let her sleep. Stroking her hair every now and then, he thought about how it had come naturally to him to put her first today – whether it was her well-being and comfort or her insistence on redecorating. Maybe 'in sickness and in health' was more than just words after all.

* * *

When Elizabeth woke up the next morning, she found herself in bed, though she had no recollection of how she got there. The last thing she remembered was lying on the couch with Peter. She rolled over and winced when a sharp pain reminded her of her sprained ankle. Thankfully, the pain subsided once she lay still again. It was more of a dull throbbing now.

And even that was easy to ignore when she spotted Peter's half of the bed. He was already at work, but he had left a tray with breakfast, a pot of tea, the book she was currently reading, today's newspaper, a bunch of magazines, pen and paper, and something that looked like color samples. Elizabeth laughed as hard as her tender foot would allow when she saw those. As soon as she was back to normal, she owed Peter a proper thank you for being so supportive in this mess.

For now, Elizabeth tried to keep herself occupied with everything Peter had provided for her. It felt strange, though, to lie in bed at this hour and simply do nothing while everyone else was at work. She wondered what Peter was doing. If he was sitting at his desk, going through a bunch of files, or if he was out there somewhere, investigating. Either one seemed preferable to doing nothing. She had been working so hard lately to make manager that it was difficult for her to just let go and relax.

When she heard a key turn in the lock, Elizabeth almost jumped out of bed in excitement until she remembered that she wasn't supposed to move. Peter walked into the bedroom mere seconds later anyway.

"Hi, what are you doing home?" she greeted him eagerly.

"Lunch break," he replied, holding up a paper bag.

She wasn't all that hungry. She hadn't done anything to make her hungry. But she was definitely in the mood for company, and it was cute how much Peter cared, so Elizabeth let him come to bed with the food. While he was eating, she quizzed him about how his day was going.

"Pretty slow, actually." Which explained why he wasn't working through lunch, though Elizabeth was trying to get him to break that habit anyway. "We're mostly just doing some housekeeping, trial prep and all that. But Hughes is gearing up for something big, something that will require a lot of man-hours. When the trial is over, he'll probably assemble a taskforce."

"Sounds important. You should volunteer," Elizabeth said, stealing a bite of his sandwich.

Peter frowned, not because of the sandwich, though. "I should?"

"Don't tell me you don't want to."

"I just wasn't sure if… you…" He didn't seem to know what he wanted to say exactly.

El leaned back. "Are you asking for my permission?"

"No," Peter said quickly. Then, "Yes, um, maybe." He sighed and collected his thoughts. "I just thought it might be nice if we talked about it first."

"Is it dangerous?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"No," Peter said again, which probably would have been his answer regardless of the truth. "Just a bit of extra work I think."

Elizabeth smiled and set aside the food so she could have his full attention. "Honey, you are a great agent. You are dedicated and passionate, you won't back down from a challenge, and you'll work tirelessly to find what you're looking for. I know that, and you know that. And I want you to prove that to Hughes and everybody else, too."

Peter's eyes gleamed. "Thank you, honey," he said and brought her face to his for a sweet, lingering kiss.

They made the most of that kiss and each other's company until Peter had to get back to work.

Elizabeth returned to her book until she noticed the one thing Peter hadn't provided her with – the phone. Which was ringing somewhere in the living room. Secretly glad for an excuse to move (other than to go to the bathroom), Elizabeth reached for her crutches and hobbled into the living room.

She was slightly out of breath by the time she answered the phone. It was her landlord calling to inform her that the damage hadn't been as extensive as previously thought and so everybody could move back in while they put the finishing touches to everything. Elizabeth dropped down on the couch in surprise.

And that's where she stayed until Peter came home from work later.

"What are you doing out of bed?" was his first, slightly disapproving question.

"I was going stir-crazy in there without you," Elizabeth defended herself. "At least I haven't tried to make dinner." The thought had occurred to her. Since she had been sitting on her ass all day while Peter was out working, it had seemed like the least she could have done. But she hadn't mastered the art of handling those crutches enough to even make the attempt.

Peter shook his head. "Why is it so hard for you to rest?"

"Says the special agent who will literally never stop working," Elizabeth countered.

"I'm here now," Peter said, spreading his arms.

"Then sit and tell me how your talk with Hughes went." She patted the seat on the couch next to her.

Peter did as he was told. "It was good. He appreciates the support, but he wouldn't give out any details just yet." He shrugged, then paused and seemed to mull something over. "And I'm done with trial prep, so I could actually take the day off tomorrow and stay with you so you won't go crazy in here."

"You just want to make sure that I won't move," Elizabeth said and bit her lip when she realized that in a way, this was exactly what she needed to talk to him about.

"Maybe, but you can't blame me for not wanting you to go anywhere," Peter said, wrapping his arm around her.

Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. "Then you should know that my landlord called. My apartment is ready."

Peter's hand that had been running up and down her arm stilled. "I hope you told him that you can't possibly move back in right now." He nodded in the direction of her sprained ankle.

"I told him that he should find a new tenant," Elizabeth said boldly. "I hope that's okay," she added a little less boldly.

Peter didn't say anything at first, then he suddenly removed his arm from around her shoulder and stood. Elizabeth turned around in surprise to see where he was going. "Peter?" She wasn't actually worried, or she hadn't been, but his reaction confused her a little.

He returned with a piece of paper and simply handed it to her without explanation.

"What's this?" Elizabeth asked, scanning the paper for clues.

Until she found both of their names on it.

"You added my name to the lease," she realized. The lease for this apartment, his apartment, now officially their apartment.

"Yesterday," Peter nodded, his face split in a grin. "I hope that's okay," he echoed.

Elizabeth felt her smile widen with relief. Perhaps she had been a little bit nervous. "It's more than that as long as you come back over here so I can kiss you."

And so he did.

* * *

 **A/N: There you go: part 2 of how I imagined them moving in together, inspired by what Peter said on the show about El moving in temporarily. I hope you enjoyed both chapters.**


	13. Being Thankful

**A/N: I hope you're up for more family fluff because this turned out to be another long one. I'm planning on posting one more chapter this year, and I'll try to have it ready by Christmas Eve.**

* * *

Peter had been in the middle of watching a game when El suddenly positioned herself right in front of the TV. "We need to talk about Thanksgiving, honey."

Thankfully, he had seen this one coming from miles away. "Don't worry. I already talked to Hughes and made a deal with Carl. I don't have to work this year. And I also looked up a couple of flights to Chicago."

Feeling pleased with himself, Peter watched the surprise on El's face. "You want to spend Thanksgiving at my parents'?"

"I thought that wouldn't even be up for debate. Unless they don't want me there?" he asked slowly, somewhat afraid to hear the answer.

El quickly sat down next to him and said, "Of course they do." And what she really meant by that was that they didn't have much of a choice because she wanted him to be there. "But what about your dad?"

"Talked to him, too. I told him that I couldn't make it this year. He's fine with it," Peter told her. He really had thought this through.

For some reason, El didn't seem convinced. "Are you sure? He probably just felt like he had to say that."

"Nope, he said that I would be, and I quote, 'a bloody idiot to choose him over you' for Thanksgiving."

El bit her lip. "I still don't like the idea of him being alone. What if he eats those sad microwave turkey dinners?"

"Those aren't half bad…," Peter tried to argue, but the look on El's face stopped him in his tracks. He changed tactics. "Really, El, it's fine. We can visit him for Christmas or Easter or Memorial Day or whatever it is one does to keep everybody happy when it comes to splitting the holidays."

He thought he had made a reasonable suggestion, but the smile on El's face worried him. It was the same smile she had used when she had wanted him to chuck out a piece of his furniture to make room for one of hers, or to buy something brand-new, even though they already had two of everything now that she had given up her old apartment.

"I'm glad you said that because I think the way to make everybody happy is to invite them to come here."

Suddenly, talking about a new bathroom mirror seemed a lot less worrisome to Peter. "Here? As in this apartment?"

"Yes, Mom and Dad wanted to visit us anyway," El said.

"Your parents, your sister, and my dad?" Peter clarified.

"Your dad can bring someone, too, if there's anyone…"

"Oh no," Peter shook his head, not wanting to go there. "Where would they all sleep, El?"

She shrugged. "We could put up my parents and Maddie at a hotel."

"At a hotel?" Peter repeated.

"It's probably still cheaper than to buy those plane tickets," El pointed out. "And your father could stay on the couch if he wants."

Peter didn't know what to say. It was a nice thought, and it made him happy that El wanted to be with him as much as with her family and that she didn't want his dad to be lonely. It was so very much like her to invite everyone, and he admired her endless compassion and determination. But it also terrified him that so many things could go wrong with this.

"Honey, it's a wonderful idea, but you've only just gotten back on your feet…" he started.

El wouldn't even let him finish. "My ankle is perfectly fine. I'm back at work, and I'm on my feet all the time. So I can definitely stand around a kitchen all day."

"All day?" Peter asked. This was getting better and better.

"Well, I'd have to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for seven people."

"Have you done that before?"

"No," El said lightly.

Peter felt like no matter what he said next it would probably be wrong, so he asked another question instead, "Why seven people?"

"Oh, right, good news. Maddie is planning on bringing her new boyfriend to Thanksgiving, so Dad won't focus on you all the time," El explained.

"Maybe he and I should start a support group," Peter mused.

El nudged his shoulder. "Come on, honey. Wouldn't it be nice to have both of our families here?"

He sighed. She had that look in her eyes that dared him to say no and break her heart – which of course he would never do, which of course she knew perfectly well. "It would. I just don't want you to put too much pressure on yourself, El."

Her face brightened as she got up from the couch and gave him a quick kiss. "Thanks, honey. I'll call my parents and let them know."

Peter surveyed the living room, trying to figure out how they would seat seven people.

One way or another, he would probably have a lot to be thankful for when this Thanksgiving was over.

* * *

When Peter got home on Wednesday night, the whole place smelled like pie. It certainly wasn't a bad smell, just an unusual one at ten p.m. He had worked late because he had tried to tie up as many loose ends as possible. Since he was one of the lucky ones who had the entire weekend off, he would have felt guilty about leaving any messes behind.

Now, though, Peter felt guilty for thinking about his coworkers instead of El, who was already busy in the kitchen. He had just assumed the cooking wouldn't start until tomorrow.

"Wow," he said when he peeked around the corner carefully and saw a bunch of pies sitting on the kitchen counter to cool off.

"Hey, honey. Are you hungry? There's takeout in the fridge – somewhere," El greeted him distractedly.

"Thanks. Sorry I'm late. I didn't know you'd be doing… this," Peter said as he slowly walked towards the fridge. Those pies smelled even better up close.

"I thought I had it all planned out, and then I realized that I had forgotten about the pies. Honey, don't touch that!"

Peter quickly pulled back his hand and El continued, "And I couldn't fit them into the oven schedule for tomorrow, so I thought I would just make them tonight."

"There's an oven schedule?" Peter asked.

"Well, we have only one oven and a lot of food to make, so yes, there's an oven schedule."

He should have known that El would plan this like a general on the eve of a war campaign. It made him slightly apprehensive of having to inform her of a last-minute adjustment. It was his own fault. He could have told her earlier, he had just avoided thinking about it.

"By the way, I've been meaning to tell you that I talked to my dad, and, um, he actually would like to bring someone."

El dropped the apple she had been peeling into the sink, and when she turned to look at him, she had a curious smile on her face. "Really? Who is she?"

"I don't know," Peter had to admit.

"What's her name?"

"I don't know."

"Peter! How could you not ask?" El shook her head in exasperation.

He shrugged helplessly. "I figured I would find out tomorrow."

El crossed her arms, and since she was still holding a knife in one hand, her posture looked more threatening than it was probably intended. "Are you telling me that Special Agent Peter Background Check Burke invited someone into our home without knowing who they are?"

"You asked me not to do those anymore!" Peter reminded her.

"Is that really the only reason?"

"Making you happy is more than enough reason for me," he nodded. He really wanted to hug her, but he also didn't want to get stabbed.

El laughed. "Okay, well, I'm excited to meet her."

"Then it's okay with you? I know you've been planning for seven…"

"Seven or eight, what's the difference? We're not uninviting your dad's girlfriend."

Peter made a face.

"What?"

"That doesn't sound right," he said.

"I think it sounds lovely," El said.

"That's because you are a wonderful person, even when you don't smell like pie."

El smiled and took a step towards him, but Peter was forced to take a step back when he saw the knife flash in her hand.

"Careful, El," he warned.

"Oh, sorry," she laughed, dropped the knife, and held up her hands to show that she was no longer armed.

Peter quickly reached out to pull her into his arms, and then he smiled against her lips.

El didn't just smell like pie, she tasted like it, too.

* * *

Before he had fully opened his eyes, Peter knew that it was too early to get up. Especially for the holidays. But when he reached out for El, he found that the other half of the bed was empty – and not just empty but cold. He sighed deeply into his pillow and rolled out of bed.

Bleary-eyed and barefoot, Peter followed the sounds and smells into the kitchen.

"Good morning, honey," El greeted him cheerfully. Way too cheerfully for – he glanced at the kitchen clock – six in the morning.

"Honey, what are you doing?" Peter mumbled.

El laughed. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Peter shook his head. "It's too early."

"Then go back to bed." She said it kindly and not at all as if she was trying to trick him into doing something she would later be upset about.

That more than anything made him focus. El had her hair up in a ponytail, as she often did when she was cooking, and she had a rosy flush to her cheeks. She wore a deep red sweater over a pair of leggings with turkeys on it. Peter could have just eaten her up – more than any of the food scattered around the kitchen. But he knew El wouldn't appreciate any attempts at distracting her right now.

So instead, Peter looked for some kind of food that he knew what to do with. "I said I would help."

El slapped his hand away. "That's sweet, honey, but go wash up first."

Peter just smiled to himself and didn't even think to protest. When he was dressed and had sipped a fresh cup of coffee, he tried again. "Now, what can I do? Where's the turkey?"

The smile that El gave him was almost pitiful. "It's already in the oven."

"When did you get up this morning?" Peter asked after bending down to check that she wasn't kidding.

"Five…ish." El shrugged. Then she pushed the cranberries towards him. "You can make the cranberry sauce."

Peter looked at the fresh berries and frowned. "You know it comes in cans, right?"

El huffed. "I'm not going to serve canned cranberry sauce for our first Thanksgiving dinner."

Peter's frown deepened, and he stepped closer to her. "Honey, this dinner is going to be special no matter what kind of sauce we serve," he tried to get her to ease up a little.

El smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss. "Recipe's on the fridge."

He gave up and learned that there were a lot more ingredients in a cranberry sauce than just cranberries. Or maybe El had simply picked the most complicated recipe she could find.

Still, it was more fun than Peter had expected. While El was extremely focused on getting all of this right, she was also happy to do it. She turned on the radio, and every now and then, she started singing along. Whenever she needed something and Peter was in her way, she just gave him a playful nudge and shoved him aside – an opportunity Peter always used to steal a kiss from her. Eventually, he even led El in an impromptu dance around the kitchen island. Meanwhile, the potatoes almost boiled over. But El quickly got everything back under control.

"Oh, you need to go and pick up my parents from the airport," she said around noon.

"Me? I'm sure they're expecting you," Peter protested.

"Honey, I can't leave right now."

Taking in the warzone that was their kitchen, he couldn't really argue with that. He also didn't dare suggest that her parents take a cab. So his only option was to get in the car.

Traffic was even worse than usual and so was the airport. And then there was the inevitable disappointment on Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell's faces when they realized that Peter was the one waiting for them. He kind of understood. He would have preferred to see El, too. So he plastered a smile on his own face and pretended not to notice.

El's mother at least recovered quickly. "Peter! It's so good to see you again, and it's very nice of you to come and pick us up," she said after giving him a big hug.

"Oh, it's my pleasure. Alan, how was the flight?" Peter asked, turning towards El's dad in greeting but foregoing a hug. They were in silent agreement that neither one of them wanted to go there.

"A necessary evil to spend the holidays with our daughter. Where is she, by the way?" Alan Mitchell asked after all of ten seconds of talking to Peter.

But Tina put a hand on her husband's arm and beat Peter to a response. "Oh, Alan, our honeybee is probably busy in the kitchen. Am I right, Peter?"

"Yes, very much so," he nodded. El's parents' nickname for her had never seemed more fitting.

"Well, then let's go and help!" Tina urged them.

They left the terminal and headed back to the car where Mrs. Mitchell left it to her husband, and Mr. Mitchell left it to Peter to load their luggage into the trunk. Tina declined the offer to sit up front, which caused Peter to dread the drive home even more. But even from the backseat, El's mom kept a steady conversation going, though Peter and Alan's contributions to that conversation were fairly limited.

They briefly stopped at the hotel so the Mitchells could check in, and then got back to the apartment. Secretly, Peter had hoped that El's sister and her boyfriend would have arrived while he was gone, but no such luck. El was still the only one to greet them.

After a round of hugs and kisses and a quick tour of the apartment that El's parents hadn't seen before, Tina eagerly took Peter's place at El's side in the kitchen. Clearly, it was a bit of a novelty for her not to be responsible for Thanksgiving dinner herself, and she insisted on helping with whatever still needed to be done. Peter didn't dare interrupt their mother-daughter time.

That left him with no choice but to sit with El's dad on the couch. It didn't really surprise him that Alan Mitchell's propensity for staring hadn't changed. Peter was beginning to think that was simply his default look. After all, as a psychiatrist it was his job to observe. And Peter would have been fine to just sit there and be quiet. But the constant chatter from El and her mom in the background made him feel subconscious about not saying anything.

All he came up with was, "Crazy holiday, huh?"

"You don't like the holidays?" Alan asked in return, arching an eyebrow in such a clinical way he could have been one of those aliens on TV who never showed their emotions.

"No, I do. It's just a lot to plan and to cook… El's been at it for days," Peter tried to explain.

"How is it then that you are the one who feels stressed?"

"I'm not stressed!"

Alan cocked his head. "Then what are you feeling?"

Peter tried very hard not to make a face. Of all the jobs out there, why in the world did El's father have to be a shrink? "I feel like I should offer you something to drink. Would you like some coffee?" He was deflecting, and they both knew it, and yet Peter didn't care.

"Tea would be fine." So that's where El got it from.

Unfortunately, she was also thinking ahead. When Peter approached her, she handed him two cups right away – one with tea and one with coffee. He had to turn right back and return to the sofa.

"Maybe you should consider switching to tea as well. It helps a great deal with stress," Alan picked up right where they had left off while sipping his tea.

"Really, I'm not stressed," Peter assured him once again.

"But you are working long hours to eventually get promoted and work even longer hours, are you not?"

Peter sighed. "I suppose so. But I love what I do, and I'm very proud of it."

To his surprise, there was a small smile on Alan's lips. "And that, Peter, is what we psychiatrists call a 'feeling.'"

"Yeah, okay, I get it."

Still, Peter was very glad when a knock on the door gave him another excuse to get back up. He was even more relieved when El's sister and her boyfriend were the ones to step into the apartment. As far as Peter knew, no other Mitchell had met the new boyfriend yet. Hopefully, that would make him a lot more interesting than Peter and his feelings.

Madeline didn't seem worried about that, though, when she handed Peter her coat to hang up. "Hello again, Peter. Sorry we're early."

He frowned. "You're not early."

"Is dinner ready yet?"

"No."

"Then we're early." Madeline winked at him. By now, the rest of the family had gathered to greet them, so she added, "Everybody, this is Andrew."

He was a tall, lanky guy with light brown, curly hair and glasses, wearing a tweed jacket and a warm smile. "Hello, thank you all for allowing me to intrude on your family Thanksgiving."

"Oh, don't be silly! We're all very excited to have you," Mrs. Mitchell was quick to welcome him.

"I know. I told him not to be so modest," Madeline interjected.

Ignoring her sister, El stepped closer to shake his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Andrew."

"You too. And I have a little something for you as a thank you for the invitation and for dinner." He handed her a bottle of wine. Peter could tell from the positively surprised look on El's face that it was a good one. "And I thought these would look rather festive on the dinner table." He held up a bunch of flowers and gave them to Tina since El was still holding the wine bottle.

And just like that he seemed to have charmed all of the Mitchell women, and Mr. Mitchell looked pleased on their behalf.

El returned to the kitchen with the wine while Tina ushered Andrew over to the couch with Alan following right behind.

Peter remained in the hallway for a moment, wondering what had just happened.

"You're making a bit of a face, Peter. It's not very attractive," Madeline spoke up next to him. Just like her father always stared at people, her eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement most of the time, and she rarely held anything back. Perhaps it came from working with young children.

So Peter replied just as bluntly, "Where did you find that guy? Did you look up 'perfect son-in-law' in a dictionary?"

Madeline laughed. "It's not my fault Lizzie didn't properly prepare you for your first meeting with us."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Actually, it is, because you were the one who showed up unannounced that day."

"Okay, I'll give you that one." She chuckled. "Oh, well, you and my sister seem to be doing just fine regardless. More than fine, actually, from what Lizzie's been saying."

"Yeah, what would that be exactly?" he just had to ask.

"You're a smart man, Peter. I'm sure you'll figure it out," Madeline said, patting his arm, and then, though she wasn't as enthusiastic about cooking, she joined her mother and sister in the kitchen.

At least, Andrew was now sitting on the couch where Peter had been sitting earlier, talking to Alan. Peter could take the armchair, and hopefully, his feelings would no longer be the main topic of conversation.

"So what is it you do, Andrew?" Alan asked just now.

"I'm a teacher, just like Maddie," Andrew replied. "But I teach at a high school, not at the elementary school level."

"Are you suggesting that teaching at a high school is better than teaching at an elementary school?"

Andrew's eyes widened in surprise while Peter tried not to smile. "Oh no, I have the utmost respect for what Maddie does. I could never do that. Those little kids are tough."

"And high school students aren't?"

"No, they are, but at least you can talk to them like adults, at least sometimes."

"But you won't ever get paid as much as you should for all the work and responsibility that requires," Alan pointed out.

Andrew laughed nervously. "Yeah, I guess that's true. But those kids pay me back in their own way."

"How so?"

"Well, most of them actually want to make something of themselves, and it's great to be able to help them and watch them to do it." Andrew looked from Alan to Peter. "And while we're on the topic, Maddie told me that you are an FBI agent."

Peter nodded. "I am." He said it with a certain amount of caution, though, because more often than not the question that followed had something to do with making parking tickets disappear.

"Great. Could you maybe give me a number, somebody I could call about getting someone from the FBI to come to our school for career day?

Before Peter could respond, Alan cautioned, "Are you sure you want to encourage your students to look into a profession that comes with such violence?"

"Quite frankly, I just want them to get excited about _something,"_ Andrew brushed him off. "And I think that working for the FBI is more about preventing violence than anything else, even if facing it is sometimes necessary to do that. Am I right?"

"I have nothing to do with recruitment, but that sounds like something we could put into one of our brochures," Peter nodded. Maybe this guy wasn't that bad after all. "I'll see what I can do about your career day."

Andrew gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Peter. Maddie said you were a stand-up guy."

"Did she? And here I thought she didn't like me," Peter joked.

"Actually, I thought the same thing when I first met her. Though that could have been because she seemed way too beautiful and smart to be interested in plain old me." Andrew laughed, shaking his head at the memory.

Peter smirked. "Yeah, they do that to you."

"Elizabeth, too?"

"Sometimes I still don't know how I got so lucky," Peter admitted, and they shared a look of understanding.

Then Andrew leaned towards him, looking sheepish. "Do you think we'd be pushing our luck if we put the game on? I'm originally from Pittsburgh, so I'm a bit of a Steelers fan."

Peter grinned broadly. He had been waiting for an excuse to turn on the TV. But he realized that they had been ignoring El's dad, though he seemed perfectly fine just listening in and observing. While Peter casually reached for the remote, he asked, "Alan, would it be all right with you if we watched the game a little?"

"By all means. As long as one of you can explain to me what's so fascinating about this game," he replied.

"First of all, it's not just a game," Peter said as the TV flickered to life.

"It is a little bit like a game of chess, though," Andrew argued.

Alan frowned. "I don't see the resemblance," he said after watching the Lions' running back get tackled in the backfield.

"Ah, but the only reason why that player just got tackled is that the other team's defensive coordinator anticipated the play they were going to run by having analyzed their previous plays and thinking just that one move ahead," Peter explained.

And before he knew what was happening, the three of them were watching the game.

It was about to go into overtime when El called from the kitchen, "Honey, would you stop watching TV and make yourself useful by helping me set the table?"

Peter jumped to his feet while Andrew gave him an apologetic look. But when Peter rounded the kitchen island to grab the dishes, El didn't actually look angry. "You'd really do anything to get out of having to talk to my dad, huh?" she said quietly.

"Watching the game was Andrew's idea, and I think your dad is actually enjoying himself," Peter replied.

El glanced towards her father who was currently discussing the psychological importance of trash talk in American Football with Andrew. "I think you're right," she agreed with a soft smile.

Peter carried the dishes over to the dinner table, while El brought Andrew's flowers and the centerpieces and decorative place cards she had made. They had to use different chairs to come up with eight seats, and El was doing her best to make up for that mismatch. Peter thought the table looked perfectly fine. The most important thing would be the food anyway. Well, the food and the company.

"Can you finish up here?" El asked. "I want to go change before your father arrives and we can hopefully all sit down to eat."

"Sure, but you really don't have to dress up for my dad. He adores you already." Peter told her. "And so do I," he added, leaning in for a kiss.

El laughed and gave him that kiss before she disappeared into the bedroom.

The knock on the front door came right when Peter had put down the last plate. For a moment there, he had almost forgotten that they weren't just waiting for his dad alone. But the eight plates on the table quickly reminded him. He still didn't know how he felt about that when he went to open the door, and he hesitated before reaching for the door knob.

Suddenly El was back at his side and wrapped an arm around his waist. She had changed into that purple dress that was one of her favorites and his, too, since it always reminded him of their first night together. She gave him a knowing smile, and Peter relaxed and pulled the door open.

"Hey, Dad. Glad you could make it."

"Thank you for having us. Sorry we're a bit late," Robert Burke said as he stepped over the threshold and revealed the woman at his side.

She looked to be about his age, but her shoulder-length reddish-brown hair was meticulously styled, and she had quite a bit of make-up on, so it was hard to tell exactly, which was probably the point. In any case, she looked nothing like his mother the way Peter remembered her.

But she smiled when she said, "I'm afraid that's my fault. The pie and I had a bit of a disagreement, but I hope it turned out all right. It's Rum Raisin."

She held up the pie, and El offered to take it. "Oh, that sounds delicious. Thank you," she said, not mentioning the gazillion other pies she had waiting already. "Now come on in. We're just about ready to eat."

Everybody gathered for a new round of introductions. The woman Peter's dad had brought introduced herself as Cecile. Before they could get into any sort of small talk, El made them sit down at the table and brought out the food. The table looked as if it ought to collapse. The turkey alone was a masterpiece and big enough to almost leave no room for the side dishes, from the sweet potatoes to the green bean casserole.

"Honeybee, you have outdone yourself," Alan was the first to comment.

El beamed. "Thanks, Daddy. But you should probably wait with the compliments until you've actually tasted it."

"Then let's get to it. Somebody carve that bird!" Madeline urged.

"Honey?" El asked, offering Peter the knife.

He wasn't sure if it was an honor or a test to carve the turkey with everyone watching, but he was glad that El needed him for something after he had been kicked off kitchen duty. Thankfully, Peter managed not to make a mess of it, and soon all of their plates were filled with more food than they could possibly eat.

That's when Tina suddenly said, "Wait! Shouldn't we all say what we're thankful for before we eat?"

Madeline rolled her eyes. "Mom, I'm starving."

"Come on, sweetie. It's tradition. I'll start. I'm thankful for my husband and my two beautiful daughters and for everyone who is about to join our wonderful family." She smiled at Peter and Andrew before nudging her husband to speak next.

"I'm thankful that we're lucky enough to enjoy this elaborate meal our honeybee has prepared for us, and I'm also thankful that I raised my eldest daughter better than to sneak food from the table," Alan said and made Madeline drop her fork with a sigh.

Cecile's smile was a little uncertain. "I'm thankful that you were gracious enough to extend your invitation to me."

To Peter's surprise, his dad reached out to take her hand in plain view of everyone. "Well, I'm definitely thankful that you're here and that I'm here and that my son hasn't once excused himself to make a work call."

Peter could only give his dad a look before Madeline quickly continued, "I'm thankful that we're almost done being thankful so I can appreciate that my little sister and my mom are amazing cooks."

Andrew chuckled. "I'm thankful that we get to share this food and enjoy being together, even if we behave like little kids sometimes."

It was finally El's turn, and she took a moment to look at all of them. "I'm thankful that all of you came all this way to spend this Thanksgiving with Peter and me, and I hope that it will only be the first of many."

After looking at everyone in turn, she smiled at Peter last, and so he only looked at her when he said, "I'm thankful that you insisted on not serving the canned cranberry sauce and that you're always right about these things. And most of all, I'm thankful that I set foot in the DeArmitt Gallery eight months ago."

El's eyes glistened and she gave him a kiss that was short but sweet. Then she cleared her throat. "Now please eat everybody."

They didn't need to be told twice.

"So, Cecile, how did you and Robert meet?" El asked after they had all mumbled their compliments on the food between big mouthfuls.

"I tried to hire him to remodel my kitchen," she replied.

"And I tried to explain to her that that's not something I do," Robert added.

"And I deliberately failed to understand him," Cecile finished, laughing.

El looked between the two. "So what happened?"

"He gave in and agreed to come over to have a look at my kitchen, and we ended up having a nice dinner," Cecile said.

Robert nodded. "But you still don't have a new kitchen."

"No, I have something better." Cecile gave him a big smile that he answered in kind.

Peter couldn't remember seeing that kind of smile on his dad's face. It made him uncomfortable.

He seemed to be the only one, though. "That's lovely," Tina commented enthusiastically. "And what is it you do, Cecile?"

"I'm a writer, or at least I try to be. It could be a bit of a midlife-crisis thing."

"One of your plays is going to be put on stage here in New York. That doesn't sound like a midlife crisis to me," Robert said.

"Really? Here in New York?" El asked excitedly.

"Off Broadway," Cecile said quickly, but El's kindness seemed to encourage her to add, "Robert is gracious enough to come and watch it with me, and obviously, we would love for you two to join us."

For some reason she looked directly at Peter now, so he felt compelled to answer, "I'll probably have to work that night."

"Honey, she didn't even say when it was going to be," El whispered.

"Whenever it is, I'll probably have to work." Peter shrugged.

El frowned, but Robert beat her to a response. "You can't take one night off, son?"

"I don't know, Dad. Most criminals don't stick to a theater schedule."

"That's okay. I totally understand," Cecile chimed in. "Your job must be very stressful."

"Not to rain on the FBI parade, but teaching a bunch of kids to sit still and prepare for life isn't exactly a piece of cake either. We're outnumbered twenty to one!" Madeline said in between mouthfuls of stuffing.

Cecile chuckled. "I can only imagine."

"Do you have children, Cecile?" Tina asked.

"No, unfortunately not."

"They can be a blessing as much as a curse. Isn't that right, Mom?" Madeline asked.

Tina shook her head. "What? I never said that. You two were never a curse. Right, Alan?"

"Well…" he said, drawing out the word.

Everybody laughed, and for the most part, the conversation flowed effortlessly, aided by the excellent food. Peter held back a little, busy observing Cecile and his dad, and wary of that theater debacle possibly coming up again. It didn't. Cecile pressed El for her casserole recipe; Andrew and Madeline had an entertaining 'who's got the more annoying student' off; Alan and Peter's dad ended up discussing the recent mid-term elections, which Tina tried to put a stop to by suggesting possible destinations for a big family vacation that no one took really seriously.

Eventually, they were all full to bursting, even though there was still lots of food left. El started packing up the leftovers and insisted that she didn't need help. Madeline and Andrew got up from the table and stepped out on the balcony to be alone for a bit. El's mom settled on the couch with Cecile and Peter's dad. They were talking about the whole kitchen remodeling story again. Apparently, it had given Tina ideas about her own kitchen.

Alan didn't seem interested in hearing those and remained sitting at the table.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help you, honey?" Peter asked one more time when El returned to the table to grab what was left of the casserole.

"I'm fine. You just sit here with my dad," she replied with a smile and a kiss to his cheek.

Peter sighed, but El seemed happy with how this big family Thanksgiving was going, so he leaned back and did as he was told. After all, they were all busy digesting the amounts of food they had consumed – and they hadn't even touched the pies yet – so perhaps he and El's dad could just sit here in semi-comfortable silence.

"You know, dream analysis can be a very helpful tool, too," Alan said suddenly.

Peter blinked. "What?"

"To analyze and communicate your feelings I mean."

"Oh, thanks, I think I'm good," Peter said, shaking his head.

Alan took another one of his long looks at him. "Have you ever seen your father with another woman before?"

Oh no, Peter thought. No amount of food in the world would be enough to persuade him to have that conversation with El's dad. If there was ever a time to deflect, it was now. "Actually, Alan, you want to talk about my dreams? There is one thing I'm dreaming about right now and that's to marry your daughter."

For once, the calm expression on Alan's face slipped. "Excuse me?"

Peter felt just as surprised. He hadn't even fully admitted to himself that he had wanted to say that out loud. But now that he had, there was no going back, and he didn't want to either. He glanced over his shoulder, but El was still rummaging about in the kitchen, safely out of earshot. Still, he leaned in closer to Alan.

"I want to ask your daughter to marry me, and I would like you to be happy for us. I'm not asking you to say yes or no because that's El's decision. But I know that if she were to say yes, it would mean a lot to her if we had your blessing."

Ever since their first meeting, Peter had suffered a lot of long looks and unreadable stares, but the one Alan was giving him now was the longest and most terrifying yet. Peter tried to tell himself that it didn't really matter what El's dad had to say. They were almost in the new millennium after all. They didn't actually need permission. But he knew that wasn't completely true. It would matter to El. And quite honestly, it mattered to Peter, too. What would it say about him if he couldn't convince El's father that he was going to take care of his daughter in every way that he could?

"Peter," Alan said eventually, "the one thing you have always made clear to me is that you love my daughter, and you have never given me or her any reason to doubt that. While I may not be entirely convinced that this isn't much too soon, I will be happy for you as long as Elizabeth is."

Peter released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thanks, Alan."

"Are you quite certain you don't want to wait? It's been less than a year."

"Wait for what? I love Elizabeth, and the only thing that's missing is that I can officially call her mine in the eyes of the law."

Alan sighed. "Marriage is more than just a title."

"I know," Peter nodded, though he really didn't. He had no idea what was going to happen, but he had faith that he and El would figure it out just like everything else. And he knew he was willing to do that, to take those next steps, whatever they may look like, as long as they were together.

"I hope you're right, Peter."

Emboldened by the relative success of this conversation, Peter added, "Just one more thing. Could you perhaps not mention this to your wife?"

"I beg your pardon?" Alan asked sharply.

"I'm not saying that keeping secrets from your wife is something one should do or something I'm planning to do," Peter hurried to explain. "But El and her mom are on the phone all the time, and they talk about everything. I'm just worried this could slip out."

Alan seemed to think about that for a minute. "I see your point, Peter, and I will treat this information on a need-to-know basis."

He said it just in time before Madeline and Andrew came back inside and announced, "Everybody gather round! It's time for charades."

Alan opened his mouth to protest, but his eldest daughter beat him to it. "Nope, you promised you would do it this year, so come on, Dad!"

He sighed and slowly rose from his chair. But he turned back to Peter and said, "Come to think of it, you happen to want this one, too?"

Peter was so shocked that Alan had just made a joke that he failed to respond until Alan had already joined the others.

Tina pressed a kiss to her husband's cheek before she asked for a five-minute delay to go to the bathroom. She squeezed past Peter's dad and Cecile who looked very comfortable on the couch, which was strange because his dad should have been the first one to bail upon hearing the word charades. Instead, he had an arm around Cecile, and she seemed positively giddy at the prospect of playing and laughed when Robert whispered something in her ear.

Peter turned away and used the five-minute delay to sneak outside onto the now empty balcony. Dusk was already settling, and the air was crisp, but it was a welcome reprieve from everything that was going on inside. There were so many different things going through his head right now, sitting in one of the cold chairs and breathing in the fresh air was helping to calm the noise.

But only when a familiar pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, did the whole world truly fall silent around him.

"Are you okay, honey?" El asked softly.

Peter reached up to squeeze her hands. "Just hiding from your sister."

El let go to sit in the chair next to him. "Are you sure it's Maddie you're hiding from?"

"Actually, yeah, your dad and I have come to an understanding… I think."

"I'm glad to hear that, but I wasn't talking about my dad," El clarified.

Like father, like daughter, apparently, but El was the only one Peter was willing to talk to about this. He just didn't really know what to say. "I'm sorry if I was rude at dinner."

"Honey, you don't have to apologize to me. And you weren't rude, a little closed off maybe." El waited for him to say something. When he didn't, she said, "Tell me about her."

"Whom?"

El gave him a look. "Your mom."

Peter sighed. She was right. He had closed himself off when it came to these memories. But El had a way of taking down all those walls by just looking at him. "She was… funny. She always made us laugh and kept saying that Dad and I got too wrapped up in things. Like with my baseball games. We would go over the numbers and the statistics, and she would remind me that I had fallen in love with baseball for the fun of the game, not for how I looked on a spreadsheet. But she was tough, too, when I needed her to be. She wanted me to have fun, but she wouldn't raise a quitter either."

He paused, daring to think back to his childhood. "I remember this one game that went really bad. We got a serious beating from the other team, and I sucked the entire time I was out there. I was so embarrassed I never wanted to get back on that mound again. But my mom wouldn't have it. She woke me up at five a.m. all week so I would throw the ball in the back yard and get my confidence back."

"Did she want you to play pro?" El asked.

"She wanted me to do whatever I wanted as long as it included a college degree," Peter replied.

El laughed softly. "She sounds like a wonderful woman."

"She would have loved you," Peter said. That much he knew.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry she can't be here with us, and I understand that it must be strange for you to see Cecile in her stead." El reached out for his hand. "But for what it's worth, I think she's actually very nice. She was probably a little lonely, too, since she doesn't have children. I think they just make each other happy."

Peter took her hand and held it. "Funny thing is my mother would probably be the first one to agree with you." He shook his head. "And I do, too. I want my dad to be happy. How could I not want him to have what I have with you?" He lifted El's hand to his lips while she smiled.

"Then tell him that. He would want to hear that from you."

"Would he? He didn't even tell me about Cecile until we invited him to come over for Thanksgiving," Peter pointed out.

"Honey, of course he didn't tell you."

Peter frowned. "Why is that so obvious?"

El shook her head. "How can you catch dangerous criminals but not this?"

"Because they didn't teach a class on messy family holidays at Quantico?"

"Clearly," El said, but she did it kindly. "Your dad probably feels guilty about moving on, too. He loved your mom, and he loves you, and this can't be easy for him either, especially with you acting this aloof around Cecile," El explained.

"So what do I do now?" Peter asked.

"Well, first of all, you should come back inside. Then you can apologize to your dad and Cecile if you feel like it, but I'm sure all they really need from you is to be okay with them being happy. And then, we can all eat massive amounts of pie."

El laughed softly, and Peter was once again struck by her beauty, both inside and out. There was absolutely no doubt in his heart that he was looking at his future. It was almost as if his mom were here with him to remind him again that it wasn't about the numbers. It didn't matter how long they had been dating or not. Nothing mattered except how El had made him feel in any given moment since then.

"El, honey, there's something I've been meaning to say…" he began, rising from his chair and clearing his throat.

She looked at him questioningly, but so was probably the rest of their family. He also remembered that he didn't have a ring or anything else except his heart in his throat and his love for her pulsing in his veins.

It wasn't enough. She deserved better.

"I love you," he said simply.

El stood as well. "You wanted to tell me that you love me?" she asked with a curious smile on her lips.

"Yup," Peter nodded. "Can't say that often enough."

"I agree. But you're sure there's nothing else you wanted to say?"

"Yup," he confirmed, putting his best poker face on.

El stood on her toes to kiss him. "I love you, too," she said and then brought her lips to his ear. "And I wanted to thank you for what you said about being thankful earlier, but I'd like to do that when my parents aren't looking at us through a glass door."

A shiver ran down Peter's spine while El took the tiniest step back to look over his shoulder. "Why is my dad staring at us like that?" she wondered.

Peter gave a little fake cough. "I have no idea."

"I thought you two had come to an understanding," she said, sounding curious again.

Peter shrugged. "I might have been wrong about that."

El fixed him with a scrutinizing look, but thankfully, they were interrupted by a knock on the glass door.

It was Peter's dad who joined them on the balcony. "So, there was an argument going on in there about whether we should come and get you two, and I volunteered. I just wanted to say that Cecile and I can leave if you feel uncomfortable with us being here."

"I'll give you two a moment," El said, squeezing Peter's fingers and resting a hand on his dad's shoulder before she went back inside to calm down her sister, who was still waiting for that game of charades.

"Dad, I'm sorry. Of course you're not leaving. This is on me, not on you," Peter said once they were alone.

His dad nodded slowly. "I guess I should have told you about her earlier."

"It's okay, Dad. Really."

They were both quiet for a moment. "Doesn't mean I don't miss her," Robert said eventually.

"I know. Me too," Peter admitted. Thinking about what El had said, he added, "But I'm glad you're happy."

"Truth be told, seeing you with Elizabeth made me think it might be worth a shot."

That confession made Peter smile in surprise and he decided to make a confession of his own. "I'm thinking about proposing."

"Are you now?"

"Do you think it's too soon?" Peter worried.

His dad stepped closer to put a hand on his shoulder. "Son, with a woman like her, I'm surprised it took you this long."

"I knew that El was special from the moment we met, but this is not just about whether we love one another," Peter argued, not sure why he suddenly felt the need to play devil's advocate after all.

"What else would it be about?"

"I don't know. About whether we're ready to make this commitment, whether she really wants to be an FBI wife for the rest of her life…"

Robert shook his head. "Peter, did I ever tell you that I proposed to your mother on our first date?"

Peter gaped at him. "You didn't! What did she say?'"

"She said no, of course. She was a smart woman. But I was persistent." His dad chuckled. "I'm just saying that this isn't about gathering all the evidence or making an airtight case. This is something you have to decide in there." He put a hand on Peter's chest. "And I know you can do that because you got that heart from your mother."

Peter smiled, glad El had convinced him to spend this time of year with his dad. As usual, she had been right. Not that his heart needed any more convincing.

"Thanks, Dad."


	14. Promising Forever

**A/N: This is my Christmas present to all of you. Thanks for all those great reviews and the outpouring of love for Peter and El and this story. I hope you'll be back next year and wish all of you who are celebrating a Merry Christmas!**

* * *

"You look a little lost."

Peter sighed. "Is it that obvious?" He asked and frowned when he looked up. He had expected a salesclerk, but the guy standing next to him looked more like he should still be in school and break all the girl's hearts there. "But I don't think you can help me."

The guy shrugged, unfazed. "They do say love is the garden of the young."

Peter didn't know who said that exactly, and he didn't really care. "Maybe, but I'm pretty sure that you've never bought an engagement ring before." Once again, he let his eyes wander across the display in front of him, hoping something would jump out at him. But so far, all he could see was a bunch of rings that gleamed and sparkled so much, he thought he might go blind. And there weren't even any price tags.

"Can't say that I have. But clearly, neither have you," the salesclerk pointed out rather rudely.

"Because I plan to only ever need this one," Peter countered.

The clerk smiled broadly. "You're confident. I like it."

Peter looked from that irritatingly bright smile back to the rings on display. "At least I was before I knew it would be this difficult to find the right one," he admitted.

"Okay, Romeo, let's problem-solve. Tell me about her," the clerk prompted.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"So I can help you pick the right ring for her," the guy, who was nearly still a kid, said in a ,duh' kind of way. He seemed completely confident in his ability to help, though, and for some reason, Peter believed him.

He was that desperate. "She's… perfect," he said helplessly, trying to come up with a succinct way of describing Elizabeth.

The clerk arched an eyebrow. "Would she agree with that description?"

Peter chuckled. "No. She'd say that's a sweet but ridiculous thing to say about her."

"Okay, then forget about any of those rings," the clerk said, pointing at the rings Peter had been staring at for the past fifteen minutes.

"Why?" Peter asked skeptically. He had never met a jeweler who tried to talk him out of spending an insane amount of money in their store.

"Because the size of the diamond might say something about the size of your wallet but not the size of your heart. She sounds like the kind of woman who knows the difference. She wouldn't want you to buy her a ring just so you can say that you bought her an expensive diamond."

"But I thought it's all about the diamonds," Peter said, confused. "Being best friends and all that."

The clerk grimaced. "Yeah, that song doesn't really go well with the kind of 'happily ever after' romance you're looking for."

"And you look like you shouldn't even know that song or what it means to get married," Peter said, wondering if he had come to the wrong store.

"I know she's not going to care about the size of the diamond," the clerk argued.

"How? You don't even know her."

"Am I wrong?"

Peter thought about it. "No," he admitted. "She hates things that are just for show. She likes everything to look pretty but in a way that compliments what it's really all about."

"Sounds like she's very smart," the clerk observed.

"She is. And she would probably tell me that I'm overthinking this," Peter said more to himself than anyone else.

"Then what you need is something simple and yet precious and elegant, like white gold or platinum. A ring that promises a life for you and her and maybe something more, but definitely one where the only other ring she'll ever need is the wedding band."

Peter was about to ask this kid how old he truly was when his eyes landed on a ring. It was a white-gold band with a princess-cut diamond that wasn't very big but encased by two slightly smaller diamonds, a setting that together created an elegant trinity – and represented a future that might grow beyond just the two of them, exactly like the clerk had said.

"Looks like you got a winner," he noticed, following Peter's gaze.

Peter didn't respond and stepped closer to the display, staring at the ring, his heart beating faster at the thought of putting it on El's finger. He could see it so clearly now. El didn't need pure gold or big diamonds. But that ring looked just like her. Breathtaking in its simple and yet undeniable beauty. Now he only needed to figure out how to actually ask her.

"Have you found something you like, sir?"

Surprised by the new voice, Peter looked up to find a different clerk approaching him. This one was older and looked more like what you would expect from a jeweler. "Yes, your intern or whatever helped me."

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't have an intern. But I'll be glad to assist you. Which ring would you like to take a closer look at?"

Peter's brow furrowed when he noticed that the younger clerk seemed to have disappeared from view. But he needed to stay focused on the ring. That was his only mission today, the only case he needed to solve. So he shook his head and pointed out his choice to the jeweler.

He made a few weak attempts at steering Peter back towards the bigger diamond rings, but now Peter couldn't even fathom why he had ever looked at them in the first place. He had made his decision, and he left the jewelry store with the perfect ring for the woman he hoped to love until his dying day.

His jacket pocket had never felt heavier.

* * *

When Peter walked into the bedroom to pick out a tie for the day, his heart almost stopped. El was sitting on the bed, sorting their dirty laundry, and right this very moment she was holding one of his jackets. And not just any jacket – the one he had worn to the jeweler's. So many different thoughts and feelings had been on his mind after that visit. Peter realized only now that after coming home that day, he had just left that jacket – with the ring inside – draped over a chair in the bedroom. Apparently, El had picked it up and decided that it was meant for the dirty laundry pile. And now, she was just about to turn out the pockets.

"El, stop! What are you doing?" Peter said a bit too forcefully.

She looked up wide-eyed, and her hands stilled in surprise. "I want to swing by the cleaners before work. I need my blue dress cleaned by the end of the week."

"Okay, but I don't see what my jacket has to do with that," Peter said helplessly. He really just wanted to take it from her, but he didn't know how without looking like a maniac.

As it was, El already looked at him as if he might have gone crazy. "I thought you might like to wear clean suits to work, too. Unless the FBI's newest strategy is to repel criminals with body odor."

Peter was too stressed to laugh. "Funny, but no. I just meant that you don't have to take my suits to the cleaners. I can do that."

"I thought you had an important case meeting this morning," El reminded him.

"I do," Peter was forced to admit.

"Well, there you go. I don't have to be at work until ten. More than enough time to drop off the laundry," El decided and was about to return her attention to the jacket pockets.

"No, really, honey, I don't want you to," Peter blurted out and took a quick step towards her.

"Peter, what's going on?" El asked, frowning.

He scrambled for an explanation. "You already do too much around here," was the only thing he came up with.

El smiled but in a dismissive kind of way. "Honey, I told you, it's fine."

Her hand moved again, and Peter had no choice but to reach out and grab it to stop her. "Just humor me. Please?"

She raised her hands into the air and let him take the jacket. "All right, but you're being ridiculous this morning."

Hugging the jacket and its precious contents to his chest, Peter breathed a little easier. "I still love you," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

"Uh-huh," was El's only response before she walked out of the room.

Peter sighed. He had never imagined that he would manage to upset her because of the ring without El even knowing that it was in fact about a ring. It was time to change that. He couldn't risk more near misses like this one. Peter pocketed the ring and followed El into the hallway.

"I'm sorry, honey. I want to take you out tonight and I didn't want to ruin the surprise."

El's eyebrows shot up, but her expression brightened. By now, Peter knew only too well that she was a very curious person. A good mystery never failed to intrigue her. It was a quality that could have made her into a good FBI agent as well. "Take me out where?" she asked.

"It's a surprise," Peter said.

"There was something in that jacket that could have told me, wasn't there?" El deduced cleverly.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that," Peter replied with a satisfied smile. He knew he had her. She would be thinking about this all day. Now he only needed to live up to whatever she might come up with. No pressure.

But the excited smile on her face was worth it. "Any hints as to what I should wear?"

"Doesn't matter. You'll look beautiful no matter what. I just want to leave by eight."

El's smile grew, and she stepped closer to press a kiss to his lips. "I'm looking forward to it. And I love you, too."

 _Good,_ Peter thought. _Let's hope you still feel that way tonight._

As usual, Elizabeth stood in the bedroom, wondering what she should wear. Not knowing what Peter had planned for tonight made it an impossible choice. She was thinking a dress, but she wasn't sure how fancy – fancy restaurant, fancy theater, or maybe not fancy at all. What if he was taking her to watch a game or go ice skating again?

She was running out of time. Peter hated it when she made them late by not getting ready in time. Though he deserved to have to wait. It was his own fault for being so secretive. Elizabeth thought about this morning again. Peter was a creature of habit. If he had forgotten something of significance in his pockets once, he could have done it again. Feeling sheepish, Elizabeth turned her attention to his clothes and slipped her hands into a couple of his pockets.

"Are you snooping?" Peter's voice suddenly made her jump.

Elizabeth grimaced and turned to face him. "What if I were?"

Peter grinned, amused to have caught her. "I could arrest you for that, you know."

"You could. But then what about tonight?" Elizabeth asked and she allowed her bathrobe to fall open accidentally. After all, it wasn't as if she didn't have weapons of her own.

Peter drank in the sight of her before he forced himself to lift his eyes back up to her face. "You're not playing fair," he complained.

"I'm just following your lead. You're the one who refuses to tell me where you plan on taking me."

"That's generally how surprises work. You like surprises," Peter reminded her.

"But I also like to figure them out ahead of time."

"Nope. Not going to happen."

Elizabeth cocked her head. "You seem awfully sure of yourself, Agent Burke."

He smiled, but a little bit of unease flickered in his eyes. "Just sticking to what the Bureau taught me."

"Then I trust you." Elizabeth walked up to him and pressed her barely clad body against him as she kissed him – the best way she knew how to distract him while her hand slowly made its way down his chest.

But Peter's fingers gently wrapped around hers, stopping her before she could reach his pocket. "Nice try, honey," he whispered against her lips, barely hiding a grin.

Elizabeth sighed and took a step back. "You're really not going to tell me?"

"No, and you now have fifteen minutes until we're leaving, so make them count."

Faced with that ultimatum, El decided to go with the classics and picked a simple but elegant black dress and replaced the high heels with tall boots, so she wouldn't get ice feet. She added the necklace Peter had given her and a couple of matching earrings, and she was done.

"See. I told you that you would look beautiful no matter what," Peter said when she joined him in the hallway. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, holding out her coat.

Elizabeth slipped inside, then turned around to give him another kiss. "Surprise me."

And he did. They took a cab because Peter said he wanted her to have his undivided attention. Elizabeth suspected that he just wanted to watch her while she craned her neck to look out the window and figure out where they were going. But Peter was right. She never would have guessed it when the cab dropped them off right outside _Jazzie's,_ a new, very popular Jazz club in Manhattan. Elizabeth had been dying to go there, but she hadn't been very optimistic about her chances. You needed a reservation to get in, and Peter's work schedule made it difficult to keep commitments like that, even when he actually wanted to go, which wasn't the case here. Or so she had thought.

"But you don't like jazz," she said disbelievingly.

"But you do. And you said this was the place to go," Peter replied.

"I thought you weren't even listening to me," Elizabeth admitted.

"Honey, I always listen to you."

She just gave him a look.

"Okay, almost always. Anyway, are you ready to go in?"

Boy, was she ever! Peter offered her his arm, and Elizabeth couldn't stop smiling from the moment they entered. The club was like a blast from the past, the interior design and decorations reminiscent of the times when jazz had still been the gold standard. There were several small round tables set up around the stage and dance floor. Almost all of the tables were taken, but Peter had reserved one for them.

"How did you get us in here?" Elizabeth asked after they had sat down.

Peter smirked. "I may or may not have threatened to have someone take a closer look at their books."

"Honey, you didn't!"

He filled two glasses with the wine they had ordered and handed her one. "All I did was mention that it could be seen as suspicious if they refused entry to an FBI agent."

"But you're not here as an FBI agent."

"But as an FBI agent, I've been away from you for far too often. I think the FBI owes us this one," he said, raising his glass to her.

"In that case, it's been well worth the wait," Elizabeth said while they clinked glasses.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Elizabeth smiled and turned her attention to the music. It was divine and everything she loved about jazz. She could have sat here and listened to it forever. But when they added a singer to the mix, who had a beautiful voice, the dance floor began to fill. And there was no way she could resist.

"Dance with me, honey," she said, reaching for Peter's hand.

"I don't know, El..." He eyed the dance floor warily. Some of those people looked like they really knew what they were doing.

But Elizabeth didn't care about them. In all this time they had been seeing each other, Peter had never taken her dancing and had never been a fan of the idea. Tonight seemed to be all about making her happy, though, so she thought her chances were good to remedy that.

"But I know. I know that I want the man I love to dance with me," she said. "Please?"

Peter did the best he could to suppress a sigh and stood. "As long as you keep in mind that even though the man you love would do anything for you, magically becoming a good dancer unfortunately isn't an option."

They entered the dance floor, and Peter was truly no Fred Astaire, but Elizabeth was no Ginger Rogers either. She just wanted to have fun, and as long as they kept stepping on each other's toes in equal measure, there was no reason not to laugh about that. And even so, there was something wonderfully intimate about dancing, the joy of holding each other, and a feeling of accomplishment when they got the steps right.

When the music slowed, the soft melody allowed Elizabeth to rest her head on Peter's shoulder while he wrapped both arms around her, and they gently swayed to the music.

"Is this really so bad?" El whispered.

Peter tightened his hold on her. "Not if it makes you happy," he replied, but she had seen the smile on his face. He was enjoying himself, too.

It was pretty late by the time they were both willing to leave. Peter hailed a cab and said something to the driver before he opened a door for her. Elizabeth was about to snuggle up to Peter on the backseat when the cabbie took a turn she hadn't expected.

"Where are we going?"

"I never said the surprise was over yet," Peter replied mysteriously.

Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "There's more?"

"Maybe, but we can go home if you're too tired," Peter offered.

"What makes you think I would want to go home to sleep?" El gave him a playful smile as she ran a hand up and down his chest.

Peter grinned. "Hold that thought for later, honey."

"Maybe I will have changed my mind by then," she teased.

"God, I hope not," Peter muttered more to himself than to her, and his voice was thick with something that almost sounded like fear.

Elizabeth sat up straighter. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Of course." Peter smiled and covered up whatever had caused him to worry just now. "And we're almost there."

* * *

The look on El's face was one of utter confusion. Peter tried not to smile too much about that. He was too nervous anyway. He had known that he couldn't go wrong with taking her to the jazz club. But he wasn't so sure about this next part.

The cab had dropped them off at the DeArmitt Gallery. El looked understandably confused as to why Peter had brought her to her place of work this late at night. He had thought about this for a good long while. Figuring out how to propose to El and what he should say had been hard enough, but the question of where had been just as vexing. Eventually, he had decided to bring her back to the very spot where she had first entered and thus changed his life, hoping that by asking her this most important question, it would forever be changed again.

"Honey? What are we doing here?" El asked.

"Let's go inside, and I'll show you," Peter replied. "Do you have your key?" It was a rhetorical question because Peter had made sure of it by checking her purse before they had left.

El hesitated, not sure if she should demand an explanation first. But she fished out her keys and let them into the gallery.

To Peter's surprise, the lights were on inside. He had cleared this little visit with the night-time security guard, just to be on the safe side. No one else should have been around. Perhaps the guard had decided to leave the lights on for them.

El still didn't know what to make of this and stopped. Peter was about to take her hand and lead her to where they had first met. But before he could do so, they both heard someone approach. El suddenly stood very straight, and Peter could tell why, and this time, he shared her disbelief. Not only were they not alone in the gallery, the very owner of the DeArmitt Gallery, Mr. Sanders, was the one coming towards them.

"Elizabeth! Good, you're here. I knew you were dedicated, but this borders on mind reading."

"Mr. Sanders…" El said and then paused because she had no idea what else to say or what was going on. She looked to Peter for answers since he had brought her here, but to his dismay, he couldn't help her. This had not been part of his plan.

Mr. Sanders followed her gaze and also looked at Peter. "And who are you?"

"Peter Burke. We spoke on the phone during the theft investigation earlier this year."

"Ah, yes, the FBI agent. I remember. I guess now I know why that investigation went so smoothly," Sanders said after noticing how close El and Peter stood and chuckled. "Anyway, I'm sure we all want to get on with our night."

"Mr. Sanders, I'm afraid I don't understand…" El said hesitantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought someone had already told you. I'm promoting you to manager, effective immediately. Ever since Jackson left, you've practically been doing the job anyway, and the work you do is outstanding. So, I just came by to leave the papers on your desk, in addition to a sizeable bonus, if I may say so myself," he winked at them.

Peter had never liked that man, but at least he finally acknowledged the amazing work El was doing for him.

El looked overwhelmed. "…Thank you, sir."

"Thank me by being back here bright and early tomorrow morning to sort out that misunderstanding with Cunningham's – so I don't have to."

"Yes, sir."

"Good, have a good night then." Sanders pulled out a sizable cell phone and ordered a car to pick him up as he headed for the exit.

When he was gone, they were finally alone in the gallery. El looked a little shell-shocked, but when her surprise began to fade, a broad smile spread across her face. Her eyes shone with relief and the satisfaction of knowing that all her hard work had paid off. She laughed before she turned to Peter and pulled him in for a long, celebratory kiss.

"Congratulations, El," Peter said when she had let go of his lips again. "You deserve it."

The sheer joy on her face was exactly what he had been hoping for. He just couldn't have anticipated that he would have nothing to do with it.

"Thanks, honey. How did you know?" El asked.

Now it was Peter who had no idea what to say. If he told her that he had not known about this at all, he would have to reveal his true reason for bringing her here tonight. But there was no chance in hell he was following that with his proposal. He wouldn't take away from El's accomplishments or diminish this promotion she had worked so hard for. She deserved a night to celebrate – though in her mind they had already done that by going to the jazz club.

Thankfully, she was fine with the helpless half nod, half shrug Peter gave her in response. She just gave him another quick kiss. "I'll go get those papers from the office," she said.

"I'll be here," Peter nodded and watched her disappear down the hall before he glanced wistfully towards the part of the gallery where he had thought this night would take them.

The engagement ring was still burning a hole in his pocket.

* * *

"Open up, honey!"

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but a Christmas cookie was stuffed into his mouth before he got the chance. He chewed and swallowed so he could at least manage a smile. "Somebody's found their Christmas spirit," he observed.

El was wearing a red sweater dress with golden stars on it, and every inch of surface in the kitchen was covered with cookies. "Of course, it's Christmas Eve, and you're finally home. I have everything I need. Well, except for that tree."

With her promotion still so fresh and the usual craziness before the Christmas holidays at the Bureau, they had both worked too much to find the time to get a tree, which El had complained about almost daily.

Peter grinned. "Are you sure about that, honey?"

El looked at him questioningly, and he took her hand to lead her back into the hallway where he had left the tree he had painstakingly hauled up the stairs. Her face lit up immediately. "You got us a tree! I thought you were just working late."

"Traffic was a nightmare. I swear all of New York City is out there doing some last-minute shopping. And picking out the perfect tree takes time, too."

El cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. "Thanks, honey. And it's our first tree together. It's going to be perfect no matter what it looks like."

He agreed with that in principle, but Peter still thought he had picked a very fine-looking tree when it finally stood in the corner of the living room.

After putting on some Christmas music, El got out the ornaments, and they started decorating the tree together. Peter hadn't done that in quite some time. Christmas hadn't been that big a deal for him these past few years. But experiencing it with El by his side was a different matter entirely. She loved the holidays, and she gave him a reason to feel the same way. After a while, though, he noticed that the ornaments he had hung on the tree never seemed to be in the same place when he turned around again. Like the keen investigator that he was, Peter quickly discovered that El was rearranging everything as soon as he turned his back on her.

"Honey, would you like to decorate the tree by yourself?" he asked after watching her do this for a few minutes.

El looked up in surprise. She had a bit of tinsel stuck in her hair. It made her look very festive. "No, of course not."

"Then why do you keep rearranging everything?"

"Because it looks better when you don't put it all on the same side, and you shouldn't put too many ornaments of the same color in the same spot either," she explained.

Peter raised both eyebrows. Apparently, even decorating a Christmas tree was an art form in El's world. It didn't really surprise him. Still, he asked, "What happened to 'it's going to look perfect no matter what'?"

El bit her lip. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'm being a perfectionist again."

"That's good because this looks like a job for a perfectionist." Peter reached inside the box with the Christmas decorations and held up a bunch of Christmas lights that were all tangled up in a terrifying knot.

"Oh no, I think that calls for someone who finished at the top of their class in Quantico," El said quickly.

Peter shook his head. "I skipped that class."

"I could pay you with Christmas cookies," El offered.

Skeptically, Peter looked from the tangled lights to El. Then he grinned. "I might be willing to accept Christmas kisses."

El laughed and willingly wrapped her arms around his neck. Their kiss ended rather abruptly, though, when she suddenly pulled away again. "Honey, look! It's snowing!" He turned them around a little so he could see the window and the thick snowflakes outside. El rested her head on his shoulder. "We're going to have a white Christmas," she whispered.

Peter smiled and kissed the top of her head. "How's that for perfection?"

El lifted her head. "Come on, let's finish this, and then we can take a walk in the snow."

Her enthusiasm was adorable and more than a little infectious. So Peter disentangled the Christmas lights while El finished decorating the tree. After what felt like a long battle, Peter put up the finally disentangled lights, because ever since the ankle sprain incident he would not let El climb any chairs or ladders. Eventually, their combined efforts paid off, and the apartment looked rather Christmassy. It would have been the perfect time to sit and eat those delicious Christmas cookies, but it was still snowing, and they both felt like little kids, too excited to stay indoors.

They bundled up in their winter coats and left the apartment. The snow was beginning to pile up, and it made that wonderful crunchy sound under the soles of their boots. El looped her arm through his, and they marveled at the Christmas decorations of the other houses they passed.

Before long, El's dark hair was peppered with fresh snowflakes that glistened like crystals. She looked like an ice princess. The only thing the princess was missing was a ring. Hopefully, he would get to remedy that tomorrow. After all the Thanksgiving craziness, El had suggested that they should spend their very first Christmas together alone, just the two of them. And so Peter had decided to put the ring under the tree. That way, he hoped to not only solve the question of how to propose but also of what to give her for Christmas. His gift to El would be the rest of their lives.

If she wanted it to be.

Lost in thought, Peter hadn't noticed that El had let go of his arm, and out of nowhere a snowball hit him squarely in the back of the neck.

His eyes narrowed in mock indignation, he turned around to a snickering El. She had a second snowball in her hand already. "You don't want to do that, honey. Attacking a federal agent is a..."

The snowball landed in his face before he could finish his sentence.

El covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh God, I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to hit you in the face." She didn't look sorry in the slightest. Her eyes sparkled with mirth.

Peter raised his hands. "You do realize this is highly unfair, don't you?"

"Why? Because you don't hit girls? You've got to stop being such a gentleman all the time."

A wicked smile spread across his face. "Oh, you'll regret saying that, honey."

He armed himself and began to pelt El with snowballs. Peter couldn't remember doing this since he had been a young boy, but with El's laughter ringing in his ears, he couldn't bring himself to care whether he looked ridiculous or not.

He cared more about winning and wiping that smug look off El's face. Now that he was fighting back, her aim was less true, and she opted to dodge his throws more often than she was able to return fire. Eventually, she gave up on that, too, and tried to run. Peter caught up with her, and after wrapping his arms around her, he threw them both off balance, making sure they landed in a deep snow bank.

The snow got into his boots and inside his coat, slowly melting down his back, but at least El was suffering the same fate. For good measure, Peter gripped two more handfuls of snow and shoveled them on top of her.

El squealed with laughter and tried to cover her face. "Okay, okay, I give up."

"You do?" Peter asked, his eyes twinkling.

"Yes, you win. I didn't know I'd be waking such a snowball fight monster."

Peter grinned. "What's my price?"

El rolled over to bring her lips to his, but when Peter could already feel her breath on his face, she paused and rubbed snow into his hair instead. Laughing loudly, she jumped back on her feet.

"Oh, but I'm the monster?" Peter protested as he got back up as well, shaking snow out of his hair.

"All's fair in love and war, honey," El giggled.

"And which one is this?" he wondered.

She held out her hand to him. "Let's go back home, and I'll show you."

Peter took her hand, and they did make it back to the apartment without any more snow-related incidents. Inside, they took off their wet clothes and snuggled up on the couch until they were both warm and happy.

The next morning, El woke him with a cup of coffee and a "Merry Christmas, honey."

"Merry Christmas," Peter replied wholeheartedly.

When they made their way over to the Christmas tree, still in their pajamas and both holding steaming mugs in their hands, a familiar feeling of excitement and anxiety took hold of Peter. They had put all the presents from their families and friends under the tree last night in addition to their own, but he only had eyes for one. He had put the ring in a bigger box and wrapped that one, so it looked like a perfectly normal gift.

Before he could suggest that El should start with that one, she said, "We have to open the one from my parents first in case they call."

So they opened the elaborately wrapped gift from Alan and Tina. It revealed a beautiful cashmere scarf for El (probably Tina's idea), a book with cooking recipes for romantic dinners (definitely Tina's idea), an envelope with money in it that was decidedly marked 'Elizabeth,' at which El rolled her eyes (most likely Alan's contribution), and something marked ,Peter' that looked roughly like a hand-knit sweater. Peter held it up like it might jump out at him while El laughed.

"Mom said she was looking for a new hobby. I guess she decided on knitting. Don't worry, honey, I'm sure the next one will be better."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "The next one? You think there'll be more?"

"Oh yes, especially once you've told Mom how much you love this one."

"Wonderful."

"Come on, honey. Put it on! Just this once," El urged him.

"Why didn't you get one?" Peter asked while he did as she asked. The sweater was so big and oddly shaped, he could easily put it on over his t-shirt. But it was itchy and it made him look as if he had eaten too many Christmas cookies and then thrown them up on it.

"Probably because Mom wanted you to have something special. Oh honey, you look adorable."

Peter sighed. He wasn't sure 'adorable' was the right kind of look for a proposal, so he quickly pulled the sweater back over his head. Thankfully, the other presents didn't contain any more self-made clothes. Eventually, there were only their own gifts left. Peter took the cup of coffee El was drinking out of her hand and replaced it with his present.

"Here, honey, open this one next."

El smiled excitedly, well aware that this was his gift. Peter took a deep breath while she began to remove the wrapping paper. The both of them sitting on the floor in their pajamas was certainly not as elegant as their evening out at the club, but he didn't actually need anything special. This was plenty special right here, and all he wanted was to finally let her know that he felt that way.

The phone rang.

El gave him an apologetic smile and set down the outer box she had unwrapped. "It's probably my parents. I'll put them on speaker so we can wish them a Merry Christmas real quick," she said, getting up.

Peter wanted to point out that talking to El's mother on the phone was never quick, but he didn't. He just sighed and settled in to wait. Alan would probably be pleased if he knew that he had once again delayed his plans.

"Hello? Oh, hey, Andrew. Merry Christmas… What?"

Peter's head shot up when El's voice was suddenly imbued with shock.

"But how… okay, which hospital? ... Yes, we're on our way … I don't know. As soon as we can … Okay, bye."

When El got off the phone, Peter was already by her side with a hand on her back. "What happened?"

"It's Maddie… she's in the hospital," El said, pausing to collect her thoughts.

"Why?" Peter asked gently, rubbing circles into her back.

"Apparently, she's been having stomach pains since yesterday. But it got really bad earlier this morning, so Andrew took her to the hospital, and they just rushed her to surgery. But they won't tell him anything else because he's not immediate family, so…"

Peter nodded grimly. "This is the hospital?" he asked, picking up the piece of paper El had scribbled on. "Okay, you go get dressed, and I'll look up the fastest way to get there."

"Okay… thank you, honey…" she said slowly, looking shaken and a little lost.

He pulled her into his arms. "It's going to be okay, El. Maddie will be fine."

She nodded into his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead before she went into the bedroom. Peter looked up the address, and then he took the ring out of the box El was about to open and pocketed it. He had no idea how this day would play out. He hoped that things with Maddie would turn out okay. Either way, there would be no more opening of any presents, and even if there were, he didn't want El to find the ring under such circumstances. Right now, the only thing that mattered was her sister's wellbeing.

As soon as they were both dressed, they got into the car. The drive upstate was painful. El was so worried she could hardly sit still, and Peter didn't know how to distract her. When they had finally parked the car outside the hospital, they still had to track down a nurse who had any information for them.

"We're looking for Madeline Mitchell. I'm her sister. We were told that she's in surgery."

The nurse checked her clipboard. "That's right. I'm afraid it could take a while."

"Why? What's wrong with her?" El asked and reached for Peter's hand for support.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"I can't tell you that," the nurse replied.

"But I'm her sister!" El told her again.

"I'm sorry, Ms. It just doesn't say here. All I can tell you is that when she came in, the doctors suspected appendicitis. But they are in the OR with her now, so unfortunately I can't tell you if that's what they found."

"But they rushed her into surgery. That means it's bad right?"

"It means that your sister is getting the best possible care. I'm sorry that you have to be here on Christmas, but the best thing you can do right now is to sit down and wait for your sister to come out of surgery. I'll let you know when you can see her. The waiting room is that way." The nurse smiled at them kindly and pointed down the hall.

El seemed reluctant to move, so Peter put an arm around her shoulder and gently steered her towards the waiting room. "Come on, honey. Maddie will be fine. You know better than anyone that she's too stubborn to let anything slow her down for too long."

El didn't say anything, but she gave him a weak smile. When they entered the waiting room, a similarly frantic Andrew jumped to his feet. "Thank God you're here!" he said, rushing over to embrace El and shake Peter's hand. "I can't tell you how incredibly frustrating it is to just sit here and not be told a damn thing. It's as if I'm a second-class citizen just because I don't have a stupid piece of paper to prove that I care about Maddie."

Peter winced at his choice of words, and El looked even more miserable. "I'm so sorry, Andrew. But they couldn't tell me anything either. They say we need to wait for her and the doctors to come out of surgery."

Andrew sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Okay, well... I'm still glad you came. They probably wouldn't have told me anything after the surgery either."

"But they thought that it's appendicitis, right? That's good, then. They can fix that," Peter said, trying to cheer up both of them.

"I hope so. But there can be complications with every surgery. And she was in really bad pain this morning," Andrew told them.

"Why didn't you go to the hospital yesterday?" El asked.

"Because Maddie refused to go. She said she didn't want to ruin Christmas for anyone. She can be so damn stubborn."

Peter gave El an 'I told you so' look. She sighed and sat down, burying her face in her hands. Peter sat next to her, resting one hand on her back again. Andrew took the seat on her other side. And then they waited.

Hospital waiting rooms were always a depressing and stifling place to be with all that fear and grief in the air. But a hospital waiting room at Christmas was a hundred times worse. The hospital staff had put up rather tasteful decorations, and there was a plate with Christmas cookies, too. Somehow, that only made it more obvious that absolutely no one wanted to be here today of all days.

And doing nothing had never been one of Peter's strong suits. Eventually, he realized that they hadn't even had a real breakfast yet, though it was past lunch time by now. "Honey, I'll get us some coffee, tea, something to eat, all right?"

El shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

He had expected her to say that, so he just squeezed her shoulder. "I know. I'll get something just in case."

It took him some time to find the hospital cafeteria and to choose something that looked appetizing enough that he might convince El to eat it.

When he returned to the waiting room, Andrew was gone. El was sitting by herself – and she was crying.

Peter froze. He could never figure out what to do when a woman started to cry in front of him. When it was a suspect, he could tell himself that they had it coming. It was a lot harder when it happened with innocent family members. But to see the woman he loved in tears was a whole new form of torture.

Due to the special circumstances they were in, his FBI instincts took over first. "Honey, what happened? Were the doctors in to see you? Is it Maddie?" he asked, trying to gather information while he crouched down in front of her.

When she noticed him, El tried to wipe away her tears with both hands, but she was only semi-successful. "No, no, there's no news."

"Honey, then why are you crying? She is going to be fine!" Peter said urgently, taking her hands in his.

"You don't know that. No one knows that. And even if she is, what about next time?"

Peter frowned. "What next time?"

"What if next time something happens to us, to you? We both know you could get hurt every time you go out there to do your job. And if something did happen, they wouldn't even tell me about it because I'm not family! Seeing Andrew like this, it breaks my heart. And if that were you in there, and I wouldn't even know how bad it is… it would just kill me." That thought was enough to reduce her to tears again.

Peter stared at her helplessly. He felt the weight of the ring in his pocket, the ring that could perhaps fix all of this. But he couldn't possibly do that here in this dreary hospital waiting room while El was shaking with sobs and her cheeks were wet with tears.

So he simply sat down next to her and took her into his arms again. "It's okay, honey. Nothing's going to happen to me or to us, and Maddie will be just fine. And I know that because I can feel it in my gut – and my gut is never wrong." He held her as tightly as he possibly could until she calmed down again, though Peter could tell that his words hadn't been enough to convince her completely.

But El straightened up again and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to break down like that. It's just it's Christmas and…"

"Honey, you never have to apologize," he assured her, cupping her face in his hands. "Never."

She managed the tiniest of smiles, but there was still plenty of evidence of her crying on her face, so when Andrew returned, he immediately jumped to the wrong conclusions.

"Oh God, what happened? How's Maddie?" he asked frantically.

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but a doctor in fresh scrubs came into the room. "Ms. Mitchell?"

El jumped to her feet. "Yes? How's my sister?"

"She's out of surgery and should be waking up soon. The surgery went very well. She'll need rest for a couple of weeks but should make a full recovery," the doctor informed her.

El closed her eyes for a second, letting go of some of her worst fears. "Was it her appendix?"

"No, though that is a common misdiagnosis in cases like this. Your sister had a large cyst on one of her ovaries that caused the ovary to become twisted around the supporting tissue. We removed the cyst and untwisted the ovary. Your sister should schedule a follow-up with her gynecologist, but I'm not expecting any complications."

Despite the doctor's optimism, Peter tried very hard not to make a face. That sounded both serious and painful, and he couldn't help but wonder if it might be something that ran in the family. He made a mental note never to dismiss El should she ever complain about a stomachache.

"The nurses will let you know when you can go in to see your sister," the doctor finished his report.

"Thank you, Doctor. And Merry Christmas," El replied, slowly finding her way back to her usual bright self.

After the doctor had left, she hugged Andrew, who looked just as relieved (and a little queasy, just like Peter had felt upon hearing that diagnosis). Then El walked right back into Peter's arms.

"I told you she'd be fine," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"I know you did." She looked up at him, and the life had finally returned to her eyes. "I don't know what was in that box I was about to open this morning, but you couldn't have made me a better gift than being here with me today."

"Well, if I had known that earlier…" Peter teased and smiled when it made her laugh.

Eventually, the nurse came to tell them they could see Maddie.

"You should go and see her first, Andrew," El said.

He looked surprised. "Are you sure? You can come with me…"

"I think Maddie will want to see you first after everything that happened, and you two deserve a moment. We'll be there in a few minutes."

Andrew nodded, gave her a grateful smile, and practically ran from the room.

"I hope Maddie appreciates what a good man he is," El said thoughtfully before they settled in to wait just a little bit longer.

But this kind of waiting was a lot easier, and when they finally joined Maddie and Andrew in her recovery room, both sisters had smiles on their faces, though Maddie's looked a bit groggy.

She sounded like her usual self, though, when she said, "So, Andrew really dragged you guys all the way out here."

"He didn't drag us anywhere. You didn't actually think we'd be sitting at home, having a Merry Christmas, while you were in the hospital," El replied, sitting on the edge of her sister's bed.

"It's not as if you being in the waiting room changed anything," Maddie pointed out.

El shook her head. "I see you're back to your old chipper self."

"I will be once they let me out of here."

"Which won't be until tomorrow," Andrew interjected.

Maddie sighed.

"Seriously, Maddie, I want you to listen to the doctors…" El began, but her sister cut her off.

"Relax, Lizzie. I'm the one who got prodded and cut open, and you can believe me when I tell you that I'm not anxious for a repeat. Plus, Andrew here called Mom and Dad, and they'll be here tomorrow when I get released."

El smiled. "Oh, good."

"See? So you and Peter can go now."

"But…"

"Lizzie, I love you for coming here, but I have Andrew and a bunch of nice doctors. And tomorrow when Mom and Dad get here, I'll be pampered and spoiled rotten. So I'm good, and I want you to have that romantic Christmas with Peter that you wanted – or what's left of it, anyway. Hello, Peter, by the way."

"Madeline. You look good," he said awkwardly.

She snorted. "He really is kind of cute."

Peter didn't say anything to that.

The sisters argued a little more until Maddie got tired and a nurse came by to explain to Maddie how to take care of herself and the surgical incision, and to help her go to the bathroom. Maddie most certainly didn't need company for that, and El finally agreed that they couldn't all stay with her. Obviously, Andrew was staying, and so Peter and El said their goodbyes.

By the time they left the hospital, it was already dark outside, and they were both a little worn out from all that waiting. Peter didn't exactly look forward to the drive back home, but at least they would have a few hours of Christmas left, which got him thinking.

El sat in the passenger's seat. Her mood had improved greatly, but she was still a little subdued. "I can drive for a while if you get too tired, honey," she said. "You already drove us up here."

She looked just as tired as he was, but she gave him a warm smile and rubbed his arm.

Peter's eyes travelled from her beautiful face to the passenger window behind her. They were driving by some kind of small park, and he could see a decorated Christmas tree and other Christmas lights in there. Before he knew it, he had stepped on the brakes and pulled over. He got out of the car, and El did the same, thinking he wanted to switch places. But when he got to her side of the car, Peter held out his hand.

"Come with me," he said.

Confused, El looked from him to the car that he had already locked. "Honey? What are you doing?" she asked but took his hand.

Peter didn't answer and led her inside that park. A few inches of freshly fallen snow covered the grounds, and lights had been strung from one lantern to the next. There wasn't just the one but several decorated trees. It was quiet and peaceful and full of light, and Peter stopped right in the middle of it.

"Honey, I have tried to find the right time to do this for weeks now, and I just realized that I don't want to wait one more minute."

El had been admiring the winter wonderland around them, but now she looked back at Peter, her eyes wide and curious.

"Aside from this little scare Maddie gave us, this has been the best Christmas I've ever had, because this has been the best year I've ever had. And it's all because of you, El."

Peter took both of her hands in his. El's eyes shone brighter than the snow in the soft light of the lanterns.

"You have made everything in my life better. You have made _me_ better. You have made me want to be better. For you. But mostly, you have made me want to be with you."

Looking only at El, Peter's heart suddenly slowed. There was no nervousness, no fluttering with fear. This was where he was meant to be.

"I want this wonderful year I got to spend with you to be only the beginning. And I want the rest of the world to know what I know in my heart. You are my family, El."

Slowly, Peter let go of her hands to reach for the ring in his pocket, and then he got down on one knee. There was only the tiniest of tremors in his voice when he asked, "Elizabeth Mitchell, will you marry me?"

El covered her mouth with one hand, but that didn't stop the tears from running down her cheeks. Not bothering to wipe them away, she, too, fell to her knees and reached out to pull his face to hers and press fervent kisses to his lips.

"Honey, honey," Peter managed to say in between her kisses. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes!" El breathed. "Yes, I'll marry you, Peter. I love you. I love you so much." She kissed him again and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Peter held her to him as if he had never held her in his arms before, and in a way, he hadn't. Not like this. Not in a way that promised forever.

But there was still one thing missing.

"Honey, just let me give you the ring," he said, softly pulling back a little. "I've been waiting for this for a long time."

El took a deep breath, trying to get some of her emotions under control. "Okay," she said and held out her hand.

It wasn't quite steady, but Peter held it gently in his while he slipped the ring on her finger with the other one. Surrounded by all those snow crystals, the three diamonds on the slim band glittered a thousand times stronger – but still not as bright as the blue of El's marveling eyes.

"It's beautiful, honey," she whispered.

"Yeah? It's not too small?" Peter asked hopefully.

El put her hand on his cheek. The feeling of the cool ring against his skin was new, but he decided that he liked it. "It's perfect."

They kissed again, and if it hadn't been for the cold wet snow slowly seeping through Peter's pant legs, they probably would have lost themselves in their own little world completely.

"Come on, honey, let's get back up," he said and helped them both back to their feet. Since they were in no hurry to be anywhere else, he led them to the nearest park bench.

El rested her head on his shoulder and held out her hand to admire the ring in the light of the nearest lantern. "What did you mean when you said you've been trying to do this for weeks?" she asked thoughtfully.

"I bought that ring a couple of days after Thanksgiving," Peter told her.

"Wait, is that why whenever I've called my mom lately, Dad always wanted her to put me on speaker so he could ask me 'What's new?'" Her eyes widened in wonder. "Did you ask him for permission?"

"Sort of," Peter admitted.

"And he said yes?"

Peter sighed. "Could you perhaps sound a little less surprised, honey?"

"Oh, honey, I think it's cute," El said, squeezing his hand. She sighed happily. "I can't believe we're going to be a family."

"Hopefully not just because of what happened today."

"No, though I wouldn't mind shoving that ring into the face of any doctor or agent who tries to keep me away from you."

Peter chuckled. "As much as I would like to see that, it's not going to happen. The Bureau is very respectful of their agents' families."

"Well, two people are only the minimum requirement for a family," El pointed out, looking at the ring again.

"Right, but there's still time," Peter replied, smiling.

El's answering smile was mixed with happy tears, and when she kissed him, the tears that slipped from her eyes ran down Peter's cheeks, but he knew it was okay. These were the good tears.

Hopefully, the life that lay ahead of them would know no other kind.


	15. Of Weddings and Planning a Life

"Honey!?"

There was something strange in Peter's voice, so Elizabeth quickly joined him in the living room. "Yes? Is everything okay?"

"I just talked to my dad. Told him about our engagement," Peter replied, putting down the phone. "He says congratulations and that he's already looking forward to the wedding."

Elizabeth smiled. "That's sweet of him. What's with the face then?" she asked since Peter still looked a little dumbstruck.

"He also invited us to come to _his_ wedding."

"What?" Elizabeth dropped onto the couch next to Peter. "Your dad and Cecile are getting married?"

"Yup."

"Since when?"

"Apparently, they were together for New Year's and talked about the future and just figured why not," Peter told her with a helpless shrug.

Bemused, Elizabeth leaned back into the sofa. "So, when's the wedding?"

"Next month."

"Wow, that's fast."

Peter snorted. "That's an understatement."

Elizabeth knew that Peter had only just come around to the idea of his father dating again. Marriage was on a whole other level and probably something he hadn't expected to have to deal with so fast. She reached out to put a hand on his arm. "Are you okay?"

"I honestly don't know." Peter frowned. "Is it weird to feel upstaged by your own father?"

Elizabeth chuckled, relieved that Peter was able to joke about this. "Oh, honey, your proposal was perfect. And if they are getting married in a few weeks, it's just going to be a really small, intimate affair."

Peter nodded, then paused, and furrowed his brow. "Wait, does that mean that our wedding is not going to be small?"

"No, I wasn't talking about our wedding. Though we probably should," Elizabeth replied. So far, they had still been coasting on the high of their engagement.

"Okay, let's do that. I could use the distraction," Peter agreed. "What do you want to do for our wedding?"

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Oh no, I'm not doing that."

"Do what?" Peter asked, confused.

"Tell you what I want so you can just say yes to everything."

"What's wrong with that?" The look on Peter's face was adorable. Elizabeth knew that he just wanted to make her happy, which would be enough to make him happy. It was cute, but not what she wanted with something as important as this.

"Honey, it's our wedding. I want you to have an opinion."

Peter seemed to think about that for a moment. "In that case, I think that a small wedding sounds very sensible."

Elizabeth couldn't help but make a face.

"You're rethinking what you said about me having an opinion, aren't you?" Peter guessed when he saw that.

She sighed. "No, but honey, _sensible?_ Is that really what you want our wedding to be?"

"I just meant that our wedding should be about us making a promise to one another. I don't see why we would need 300 other people there to do that."

Elizabeth relaxed and put a hand on his knee. "I agree."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

"Yes, I would like our families to be there and a couple of friends, but all I really need is you," Elizabeth told him.

"Aw." Peter smiled and gave her a kiss. Then he put his arm around her and leaned back. "Small wedding it is. Only, not next month."

"Oh no, I'm not getting married in the middle of winter. I don't want to freeze to death at my wedding," Elizabeth said.

"Right, so summer wedding."

"Yeah, but summer in the city can be awful…"

"Okay, spring then?"

"Spring is nice, but we'd have to wait until next year. Otherwise we wouldn't have enough time," Elizabeth pointed out.

"But I thought we want to keep it small."

Elizabeth lifted her head from his shoulder. "Honey, I still need a dress. And we have to find a venue, make a guest list, and invitations, choose flowers and food and music…"

"Or we could just elope," Peter suggested.

Elizabeth could tell that it was just a joke, except for that little part of him that was terrified of organizing a wedding. But the thought of running off somewhere as if they had something to hide and not to be able to celebrate their union with friends and family was not something that could make her laugh.

Realizing as much, Peter quickly amended, "Or, how about a wedding in the fall?"

"I like that. September could be nice." Elizabeth smiled. "Plus, it's 1999, so it would be easy to remember."

Peter grimaced. "Are you implying that I could forget our wedding date?"

"No, but you just did." Elizabeth laughed and pecked him on the cheek.

* * *

"Honey, the check engine light is still on," El said, craning her neck to see the dashboard from the passenger's seat.

Peter sighed. "I know. I've been meaning to get it checked, but there was no time."

El leaned back in her seat, but she didn't look happy.

"What?" Peter asked.

She shrugged, though she was clearly not indifferent about this. "I just think this is something you should make time for even if work is busy. What if the car breaks down while you're in pursuit of a suspect?"

Peter chuckled. "Surprisingly, there are not a lot of car chases in the White Collar division."

El rolled her eyes at him. "What if we break down in the middle of nowhere?"

"That depends. Is there food and a bed for us in the middle of nowhere?"

"Honey!"

"Sorry, gallows humor," Peter apologized and took one hand off the steering wheel to give hers a quick squeeze. They were on their way to his dad's wedding. Peter had gotten as used to the idea as he possibly could. He wanted his dad and Cecile to be happy. And he wasn't upset about them getting married first either. Not really. Still, it felt strange to attend your own father's wedding.

El gave him a knowing smile. "It'll be fine. Maybe we can even get some ideas for our wedding."

"Yeah, that doesn't make it any less weird."

"Okay, but honey, sabotaging the car so we won't even get there is not the answer," she joked.

Still, Peter knew that if this turned out to be anything more than a loose gas cap, he would never hear the end of it. They had time to spare since El had made them leave super early this morning. Peter suspected that she had been worried he might get a work call before she could get him out the door.

So he looked up the nearest garage and pulled over. It was small and thankfully not very busy. They read out the problem and said they could probably get it fixed within the hour. Peter expected an 'I told you so' look from El, but she didn't seem to care about the car anymore.

"Honey, come look!" she said, pulling him out of the repair shop.

A little bit further down the street stood a small church.

"Let's go and have a look at it," El suggested.

"Are you sure you're not the one who sabotaged the car?" Peter teased.

El shrugged. "It's not as if we have anything else to do while we wait for the car to get fixed."

Peter just shook his head, smiling, and took her hand. They walked down the street until they reached the church. There was a little garden out front that continued as a small graveyard in the back. The church was built from stone, which made it look old but well cared for. Inside, the pews were made of a dark wood, and the light filtered through several windows made of stained glass. It was a beautiful church but a little dark and solemn for a wedding. At least in Peter's mind.

"What do you think?" El asked softly.

"Um…" He didn't want to hate it in case she loved it. "It's nice."

"It's beautiful. But it's not terribly bright in here. Maybe it would be different if the sun were out…"

Relieved that they were on the same page, Peter squeezed her hand. "Well, you walking down that aisle would brighten this place up immediately. But yeah, I don't think this looks like us."

El turned towards him with a smile on her face, but they were interrupted by the pastor, who came in through one of the doors in the back and approached them. "Can I help you?"

"No, thank you. We were just having a look around," El replied friendly, using her left hand to point at the rest of the church. Her engagement ring sparkled in the light of the window above their heads.

That didn't go unnoticed by the pastor. "Are you looking for a place to get married?"

"Yes, we are, actually. But we don't really know what we want yet," El said evasively.

"Of course, that is an important decision to make," the pastor nodded. "We offer premarital counseling, too."

"We don't need counseling," Peter said quickly, tightening his hold on El's hand.

The pastor looked from their intertwined fingers to Peter. "It doesn't mean that there's anything wrong. It's just to make sure that you both want the same things for this life you're about to spend together."

"We do," Peter assured him.

"How wonderful." The pastor smiled at them kindly. "I assume you're both working?"

"Yes."

"And you both want to keep working?"

"Of course."

"Do you also want to have a family?"

"Um…"

"Who's going to stop working when you have that family? How big a family do you want? And where is that family going to live? What about the money to pay for it all? Do you want to have joint accounts? Who will be in charge of what you're spending? And perhaps most importantly, how do you both define infidelity?"

Wow. And Peter had always thought that psychiatrists were tough. Apparently, they had nothing on this pastor. He glanced at El who looked similarly overwhelmed, so he said, "Um, those are all excellent questions, but we have to get going now. Our car is getting fixed just down the road. Thanks, anyway."

Peter gave the pastor a weak smile before he quickly pulled El out of the church with him. Back outside, he took a deep breath. "I had no idea pastors could be that scary."

"I think he was just trying to make a point," El said, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah, that they desperately need new couples for their counseling."

El bit her lip. "Well, some of the things he mentioned… it's something to think about."

Peter sighed. That's what he hated about therapy. It always seemed to create problems that hadn't been there just a few minutes ago. "All right, then we will. But right now, we need to get to my dad's wedding. Before that pastor in there finds out that he didn't have counseling either."

El laughed softly, and they headed back to the garage. When the car was done, they didn't drive to Peter's childhood home but straight to city hall where his dad and Cecile would get married. Aside from Cecile's brother, Peter and El were the only ones the soon to be married couple had asked to come to city hall to witness the ceremony. So the five of them stood together in the hallway, waiting for their appointment.

But El did her best so the waiting wouldn't feel too awkward. "You look lovely, Cecile," she said, hugging her carefully. Cecile was wearing a cream-colored skirt and blazer instead of a wedding dress. It would have looked a little out of place in this hallway anyway.

"Thank you, Elizabeth. We're so glad to have you here with us."

"Of course. We wouldn't have missed it for the world," El replied, giving Peter a secret wink.

His dad seemed to catch that, but he just grabbed Peter's shoulder and said, "Thank you, son." He, too, was not wearing a tux, just a black suit with a matching tie.

It was all very simple. Peter liked simple. But he wasn't sure if he liked this.

Eventually, it was their turn to enter, and Peter and El took a seat while his dad and Cecile walked up to the officiant. El seemed busy inspecting the rest of the room, though.

"Honey, what are you doing?" Peter asked her quietly.

"I just think they could have done a better job decorating this place," she whispered back. "There are barely any flowers. Not the right ones, anyway."

Peter frowned. "There are right and wrong flowers?"

"Well, there are better choices than white lilies. This is not a funeral."

He understood what El was saying. Not necessarily about the flowers, but about the beauty of it all. Obviously, El looked gorgeous no matter what. She looked amazing in the blue dress she was wearing today. Still, Peter knew that she would absolutely take his breath away in whatever wedding dress she was going to choose. And he wanted her to walk down the aisle somewhere that was at least half as beautiful.

"So no dark churches and no city hall," he said.

El smiled, lacing their fingers together. "I'm just saying it could be a bit more romantic."

"Right, small but romantic," Peter nodded.

No matter how simple this wedding was, he was surprised to find that it was still every bit as touching. The officiant did a great job, saying a few words about Robert and Cecile as a couple and how it wasn't about the time they had known each other but about the time they still wanted to spend together. And even though there were no personalized wedding vows, the 'I dos' were clearly heartfelt.

El's eyes were shining with unshed tears and she mouthed an 'I love you' when she caught him looking at her.

Peter brought their intertwined fingers to his lips and kissed the top of her hand. For a moment there, he understood why his dad hadn't waited to do this, not with his mom and not with Cecile. When you knew, you just knew. The rest was just extra.

After the ceremony, they drove to the Burke family home where a couple of friends and colleagues joined them for a small gathering.

Being back in his old home and realizing that Cecile had opted not to change her name got Peter thinking.

"Honey, what about your name?" he asked, turning around to El.

She looked confused and paused with a fork full of wedding cake halfway to her mouth. "What?"

"Do you want to keep it? Because I don't want you to think that you have to take my name just because it's tradition. I mean, I like tradition just fine, but I want you to do whatever it is you want to do…" Though he really wanted her to want this, Peter realized.

Perhaps so did El, because she just smiled at him. "Honey, nothing would make me happier than to be Mrs. Elizabeth Burke."

Hearing it from her lips made Peter grin like a fool. "It does have a nice ring to it."

"Very nice," El agreed, giving him a quick kiss.

"Except, it's another thing your dad can add to the list of faults to hold against me. Stopped you from carrying on the family name," Peter said.

"He has two daughters. I think he saw that one coming. And he doesn't have a list."

"I'm not so sure about that. I think he would love to have a conversation with that pastor from earlier…"

"Honey, just eat your cake," El interrupted him and fed him a piece with her fork. "Do you like it?" she asked as soon as he had chewed and swallowed it.

Peter shrugged. "It's cake."

"I know that. But do you like it?"

"It tastes like cake," Peter repeated. He really didn't know what else to say.

El sighed. "I guess we need to go cake sampling."

He wanted to be at least a little bit helpful, so he said, "I like those figurines they put on top."

"I think they only do that with the big wedding cakes with three tiers or more," El said thoughtfully.

"Then let's get one of those."

El shook her head but laughed.

"I'm so glad to see you two so happy," Cecile commented when she and Peter's dad joined them. "I was a little worried that you might be angry with us for stealing your spotlight," she confessed.

"Oh no, of course not," El assured her.

"When we decided to do this, we didn't know about your engagement," Cecile continued.

Peter frowned. "Technically, Dad knew."

"Yeah, but son, you told me that at Thanksgiving, and then nothing happened for at least a month. So I figured if you didn't get a move on, I would."

"Thanks, Dad."

El rested a hand on Peter's arm. "Really, it's fine. We need time to figure out what we want anyway. But this is all very beautiful."

"Oh, we just wanted to keep it really simple since we've both been married before," Cecile said, smiling happily at El's compliment. "But I'm sure you'll be going for the real thing."

"As you should," Robert agreed. "You better get her the wedding she wants, Peter."

"Why do you automatically assume that I won't?" Peter protested. As if saying no to El was something he particularly enjoyed or did at all, unless it had something to do with work.

El ran her hand along his back, reassuring him that she knew as much. "We don't really know yet what we're going to do."

"Well, if you need help with anything…" Cecile offered. "Actually, at the theater where they did my play, there was this band. Really nice and talented guys. We ended up having drinks together a couple of nights. They do all kinds of gigs really, weddings, too. I'm sure they would love to play at your wedding for a reasonable price."

"A band? Oh, I don't know. That might be too big for us," El said hesitantly.

"Just think about it maybe. I can get you a CD or their contact information any time." Cecile smiled. "You do like jazz, don't you?"

"I do," El confirmed.

"They can do that, too."

El's eyes widened, though she tried to hide her excitement at the idea.

Peter chuckled. "I think you can go ahead and give us their contact info," he said.

"No, honey, we can't have a jazz band at our wedding," El protested weakly, putting one hand on his chest.

"Why not?" Peter asked, wrapping her hand in his.

"It's too much."

He shrugged. "Maybe we can just take half of the band, like only the saxophone and the drums," he suggested while El laughed into his shoulder.

Robert and Cecile joined in, and suddenly it wasn't all that difficult to accept that as much as Peter and his dad had loved his mom, they both had the same right to go on with their lives and live them to the fullest. And they were looking pretty damn good right now.

Later in the evening, they cleared some space in the living room so Peter's dad and Cecile could have a bit of a first dance.

El sat to the side. She appeared to be watching but at the same time she seemed lost in thought.

Peter sat down next to her. "Everything all right, honey?"

She looked up at him and nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Were you still thinking about that pastor from this morning?" Peter dared to guess.

"What if we are rushing into this a little bit?" El asked, admitting as much.

"If we are rushing, then what are they doing?" Peter pointed towards his dad and Cecile.

They were slowly dancing in circles. Cecile's head rested on his dad's shoulder and she laughed when he whispered something into her ear.

El sighed. "Being in love?"

"Sounds good to me," Peter said, holding out his hand.

She smiled when she took it. "Me too."

* * *

Elizabeth was flipping through a bridal magazine she had picked up on her way home from work against her better judgment. Those magazines were supposed to help, but they just made her antsy because she had no idea what kind of dress she wanted or what kind of dress Peter would like. Which was not helpful anyway because he would probably like them all until he learned how expensive they were.

When he came home with a huge grin on his face, Elizabeth thought he had noticed the magazine, but he didn't pay attention to that at all.

"Honey, do you think you could get away for an extended weekend for your birthday?" he asked her eagerly.

Surprised, El put down the magazine. "I don't know. I guess I could ask Tracy if she thinks she's ready for that." Tracy was the new assistant manager at the gallery. El had been training her since January. "But where would we go? Since when do you get time off work?"

Peter's smile only got bigger. "The FBI seized a couple of properties in a huge embezzlement case last year. The guy is in jail now, and all the stuff he bought with the stolen money is going back. There's this one house up in the Hamptons that will go back on the market now. Anyway, we still need to officially release it from FBI custody, so to speak, and since I have still vacation days left from last year, Hughes is sending me up there."

Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief. "To stay in a house in the Hamptons? For free?"

"Yup."

"Wow, and to think I agreed to marry you before I knew you could get me into places like that," Elizabeth teased.

"Ha ha," Peter said, but he was still grinning. "Is that a yes then?"

Elizabeth leaned in and answered his question with a kiss.

A few days later when they left on their short vacation, she tried not to worry about whether things at work would work out without her. As soon as they got close to their destination, she relaxed and all work-related thoughts were silenced by the beautiful scenery. February was far from the most popular month in the Hamptons, but from what Elizabeth could tell that was actually a good thing. After all, they had come here to get away from all the other stressed New Yorkers and gaping tourists for a while.

The house they were looking for was easily distinguishable by the yellow police tape that was still proclaiming the property as off-limits. Also, it was the last one in a quiet cul-de-sac, and it wasn't really a house. A mansion, perhaps, or one half of a castle.

Peter stopped the car at the entrance to the driveway before the police tape.

"What do you have to do now?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide.

"Take down the police tape," he replied.

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "That's it?"

Peter grinned. "That's it."

"Couldn't the local police have done that for you?"

"Yeah, but Hughes learned about our engagement, and he thought we might enjoy coming up here," Peter explained.

Elizabeth had to admit that as much as she hated how dangerous his job could be, the upside was that some of the agents treated each other like family. "That was very nice of him. You should really invite him to the wedding."

Peter frowned. "He's still my boss, honey."

"But he's also a friend, isn't he?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

"I guess so. But I thought in the interest of keeping it small, we wouldn't invite anyone from work."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not if the people at work are also your friends. Plus, you still need to pick a best man."

Peter sighed. "Why am I the only one who has to decide this?"

"Because if I don't make my sister my maid of honor, I probably won't live to actually see the wedding," Elizabeth laughed and got out of the car.

As far as places to see before one died were concerned, this one wasn't bad. Not bad at all. She couldn't quite see the ocean from here, but she could hear it. And the property around the house was huge. There was a garden that had to be beautiful in the summer, a big patio and even a gazebo. It was too cold to sit out there for too long, but that wasn't a problem because the house had a conservatory and an indoor pool. In addition to several bedrooms and a separate living and dining room of course.

"How can anyone legitimately have enough money to buy a place like this?" Elizabeth wondered, turning in circles at the foot of the grand staircase. "How much is this even worth?"

Peter shrugged. "You probably don't want to know."

"And you're sure we won't get arrested for staying here?"

"Very sure," he nodded with a grin that faded a little when he asked, "Does it bother you that we can never have a house like this outside of a few FBI technicalities?"

Elizabeth laughed. "No, not in the least."

"Why not?"

"Because in a house this big, I would never get to see you. I like knowing exactly where you are when you're home."

Smiling, Peter reached for her hands. "So, this is your birthday vacation. What do you want to do?"

This house and the entire area offered way too many options, and Elizabeth didn't want to bother choosing between them right now. She hadn't been on vacation in a while. It made her feel giddy, and this ridiculous house didn't exactly help either. She figured there was no reason not to do exactly what she felt like in this moment.

"I think we should find out if the beds here are as fancy as the rest of the house," she said, tugging on Peter's hands.

"Now that part I think we could have done at home," Peter pointed out, following her.

Elizabeth made her way up the stairs backwards, facing Peter. "Are you complaining?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

He quickly scooped her up in his arms. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They chose a bedroom at random and sank deep into the mattress. It did feel rather fancy, but Elizabeth was too distracted by other feelings to really take notice. Making love to Peter had that effect on her. He was right. It didn't matter where they were when they were together like that. But it was nice to feel so carefree afterwards, knowing she didn't have to let him go back to work. Plus, wearing nothing but her engagement ring had quickly become her favorite outfit.

"We should just get married like this," she said when her head rested on Peter's chest and her beringed hand traced lazy circles on his stomach.

Peter laughed, the vibrations in his chest making El's body shake as well. "I'm not sure you'd find someone willing to officiate this way. And we'd have to lose the band, too."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not sharing you with anyone," Peter said, running his fingers up and down her naked back, drifting lower every time.

Elizabeth smiled and enjoyed his soft touch for a while. "You do realize you're setting the bar extremely high for my birthday next year, don't you?"

Peter's fingers stilled. "I hadn't thought about that. How about a no-presents agreement for birthdays from now on?"

She chuckled. "No way. Not until we've been married for at least five years."

"Only five years?" Peter asked.

"I was about to say ten, but I didn't want to tempt fate."

Peter's fingers resumed their exploring. "Ten years isn't tempting fate."

The certainty in his voice made Elizabeth smile. "How many years then?"

"Fifty years?"

"Oh God, I don't want to think about how I'll look in fifty years."

"The same way you always do. Perfect," Peter said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. "That answer was almost worth a free pass for my next birthday."

"Yeah?" Peter grinned. "Are you saying this is the best birthday you ever had?"

"Maybe," Elizabeth nodded. "At the very least it's a strong runner-up."

"What's my competition?"

"My twelfth birthday was pretty special," Elizabeth remembered. "My parents took Maddie and me to New York for the weekend, and I fell in love with the city. Which is not so different from your favorite birthday."

Peter furrowed his brow. "What is my favorite birthday?"

"When you turned eight and your dad took you to see your first game and you fell in love with baseball."

"Sometimes I think you'd make the better FBI agent of the two of us," Peter laughed. "So, what was your worst birthday? Just so I know what not to do?"

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment. "Don't kiss another woman."

"What?"

"My sixteenth birthday I had a crush on this guy from my English Lit class, and he came to my party. Since it was my birthday, I thought maybe he would pay attention to me, but he ended up kissing my best friend."

Peter brushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear so he could better see her face. "That's an easy one, because that's never going to happen."

Elizabeth smiled up at him. "What's been your worst birthday then?"

"The one a week after my mom had died."

Shocked, Elizabeth lifted her head off Peter's chest and sat up. "Oh honey, I'm so sorry. I didn't know…"

Peter sat up as well, leaning against the headboard. "Honey, it's okay. I never told you when she died. I guess there will always be some things we don't know about each other."

"I don't want that. It might have to be that way with Agent Burke, but I don't want that to be the case with Peter Burke," Elizabeth said softly, hugging the comforter to her chest. Without Peter's body heat, she immediately felt cold and exposed.

He seemed to ponder her words before he held out his arm for her and said, "Well, my very first memory is of me falling flat on my face. A lot. That whole thing where you were supposed to walk on your own two feet and look where you were going at the same time confused me a great deal."

Elizabeth laughed and snuggled up to him again while she happily listened to the pieces of himself Peter hadn't previously shared with her.

* * *

Having breakfast in the huge dining room that would have fitted a lot more people than just the two of them was a bit surreal. One wall consisted of nothing but glass windows and allowed multiple rays of sunshine to filter in whenever the sun managed to show itself. Peter had insisted on making breakfast for them, and Elizabeth had long since decided that this was in fact way better than even seeing New York City for the first time.

She was just wondering whether they would make it out of the house today (or just go skinny-dipping in the pool again) when the ringing of the doorbell burst their little bubble.

"Are you expecting someone from the FBI?" Elizabeth asked, worried that this might be the end of their vacation.

But Peter didn't seem overly concerned. "No, there's no reason for anyone to come up here."

He got up and went to open the front door with Elizabeth following out of curiosity.

On the other side of the door stood a man in his thirties who was most definitely not an FBI agent. "Hi, I'm looking for an Agent Burke," he said, looking from Peter to Elizabeth and back.

"That's me," Peter said cautiously.

"Excellent. My name is Trent Salinger. I heard that this property will be back on the market as soon as the FBI releases it, and I kind of hassled someone into telling me that you'd be here right now. I was hoping you would let me in to have a quick look around. I'd like to be the first to put an offer in."

Elizabeth took a step closer. "You want to buy this place?" she asked. Only yesterday she had wondered who would do that, and she certainly hadn't pictured it to be this guy. He was wearing jeans and a sweater. It was probably an expensive cashmere sweater and the shoes looked custom-made, too. Still, he seemed way too young.

"If it's as spectacular on the inside as it is from the outside," Salinger nodded.

"Oh, it is," Elizabeth promised him.

"I was hoping you would say that. So, would you be so kind and show me?" Salinger asked, giving her a brilliant smile.

Elizabeth looked questioningly at Peter, who shrugged. He didn't seem very enthusiastic about it, but there seemed to be no rule against it. "Of course, come on in."

So Elizabeth showed Trent Salinger the house, which felt a little strange since it wasn't actually her house. But she was used to showing people around, and Salinger seemed to appreciate the opportunity to use her as a sounding board.

"In all honesty, I'm not actually buying this for me, as tempting as that would be. I was thinking about turning this into an inn," he explained.

"Oh, I think that would be beautiful. There's so much room here," Elizabeth agreed. There were probably lots of inns like that already in the area, but it really did make more sense than to live alone in all this grandeur.

Since the sun was currently out, they went out on the patio where Peter and Elizabeth waited while Salinger walked the grounds.

"What do you think how he got the money to buy all of this?" Elizabeth wondered.

"Probably embezzled it, just like the last guy," Peter replied.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him. Sometimes Peter saw crimes everywhere. "I'm thinking more along the lines of rich entitled heir."

"Sounds like a bad romance novel waiting to happen."

"Why does it have to be bad? This is a very romantic place," Elizabeth said.

Peter put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. "It was until he showed up."

She shushed him when Salinger walked back up to them. "Wow, that gazebo is really something!"

"It is very pretty," Elizabeth agreed, wiping a strand of hair out of her face that the wind had stirred up.

Salinger looked at her and Peter before he said, "Absolutely, and again, I'm sorry for interrupting your time here. You're not on your honeymoon, are you? Because I'd just feel terrible about that."

"Oh no, we're not here on honeymoon. Don't worry about it."

"But that is a pretty nice ring on your finger," Salinger pointed out.

Instinctively, Elizabeth smiled and began to play with said ring on her finger. "Thanks, um, we're engaged."

"Ah, congratulations!"

"Thank you. Now, are you done here or…?" Peter asked not very subtly.

Salinger turned around to look at the garden again as if he hadn't even heard Peter. "This would be a very nice place to get married."

"Oh, I'm sure there would be lots of people interested in that," Elizabeth nodded.

"How about you guys?" Salinger asked, turning back around with a grin. "I mean, if I were to buy this place and get it up and running in time, you could be my first wedding."

Elizabeth and Peter exchanged surprised glances. "I don't think that's in our price range," the latter said.

"I didn't say anything about prices. It's not even my inn yet. But if I get it because you were nice enough to let me in here, I'm sure we could work something out." When they didn't answer right away, Salinger added, "Just think about it while I have one last look inside, and then I'll be out of your hair." He winked at them and went back inside the house.

Peter and Elizabeth stood on the quiet patio, listening to the sound of the ocean not too far off, until Peter asked, "Well, what do you think, honey?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I think we're not wedding-in-the-Hamptons kind of people. I mean, we'd have to get everyone and everything out here."

"It's not that far. And I don't know what kind of wedding person I am, but I know that I'm in love with you, and if I'm not completely mistaken, you're in love with this place," Peter replied.

"Of course, I am. We could set up the band in the gazebo, or we could get married in the gazebo. If the weather's nice, we could set up chairs and have the wedding in the garden and move the reception inside if it gets cold. And people could actually stay in the inn if they wanted to…"

Elizabeth sighed and Peter just gave her a look. "But honey, this is not small. This is the absolute opposite of small."

Peter cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "But it's beautiful, and you deserve beautiful."

Elizabeth had a feeling that they had no idea what they were agreeing to just now, but she couldn't bring herself to resist. She loved this place, she loved this man, and she couldn't wait to be married to him.

* * *

 **A/N: Happy New Year, everybody!** **I've been on vacation and now I've got work to catch up on, but I'll try to keep the updates coming as regularly as possible. Hope you enjoyed the wedding talk, all of it inspired by what little El says about the original Burke wedding in one of my favorite episodes (Veiled Threat).**


	16. How to Speak FBI

**A/N: Turns out work wasn't so bad this week, so here's the next chapter. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews!**

* * *

"Mhm, something smells good in here," Peter said when he made his way into the kitchen to kiss El hello. "Special occasion?"

El just gave him look. "Honey! We're having Mary and Marcus over for dinner tonight. Don't tell me you forgot."

Peter grinned and presented her with the bottle of wine she had asked him to pick up for the dinner. El rolled her eyes but took the bottle with a smile.

Of course, he hadn't actually forgotten. Peter had promised himself that he wouldn't drop the ball on any wedding stuff. He might not have the same eye for decorative detail or understand the difference between white and off-white colors, but he didn't want El to think that he didn't care because he did.

In a way, this dinner was part of that. It had been El's idea to invite Mary and Marcus because they were among the few married couples they knew who were roughly their age. And of course, Marcus was an FBI agent, too. But he had already been married when he had joined the White Collar division, so if El was hoping for tips on how to balance wedding planning with a busy FBI schedule, Peter doubted he would be of much help to them. If he showed up at all.

"I'm not sure if Marcus knows about this, though, because he was still at work when I left," Peter told El while setting the table.

El frowned. "Didn't you talk to him?"

"He was working on a different case," Peter said.

El looked like she was biting back a comment that probably would have revolved around men and communication. Instead, she said, "Well, we said eight, so there's still time."

It was eight thirty by the time their guests arrived.

"I'm so sorry we're late," Mary apologized the minute they came through the door, and the look she gave Marcus made it perfectly clear who was at fault.

"Yes, um, that's on me," Marcus admitted. "I hope we didn't ruin dinner."

"No, don't worry about it. I know how it is with an important case," El replied, flashing Peter a smile, but in this context, he wasn't sure how to respond to that.

Mary beat him to it anyway. "Oh no, don't even start making excuses for them, Elizabeth, or you'll be hearing lame apologies for the rest of your life."

El's smile froze on her face, and she exchanged worried looks with Peter, who now definitely didn't know what to say.

"It's not just a lame excuse that I was trying not to lose my job," Marcus defended himself.

"You can't tell me that you'd get fired for going home at night to have dinner with your wife. Peter made it home in time, and I'm guessing he's got important cases, too. Right, Peter?"

When Mary turned her angry eyes on him while Marcus silently pleaded with him to back him up, Peter had even less desire to get involved in this marital spat.

It was El who saved him. "Why don't we all sit down first before the food gets cold? Come on, Mary, you're going to love this wine I found." She looped her arm through Mary's and pulled her into the living room.

Marcus gave Peter a look that was equal parts miserable and apologetic. "Sorry about that."

"Tough case?" Peter asked, choosing to refrain from making a comment about their argument.

"It's years' worth of bank statements and credit card receipts, and I can't make heads or tails of it, but I've got Hughes breathing down my neck."

"Did you ask for help?" Peter suggested.

"If I do, he'll never let me be the case agent again." Marcus sighed, and Peter knew those growing pains only too well, and he also knew that you had to work them out on your own. Of course, that was a lot easier if there wasn't more pain waiting for you at home.

"But that's not what we came to talk about, right? So let's eat," Marcus added, following the women to the table.

Honestly, Peter wasn't sure what they were supposed to talk about after this. He doubted that Mary was in the mood to talk weddings. But she proved him wrong. At the very least, she was in the mood to talk about Peter and El's wedding.

"I can't believe you're getting married in the Hamptons!" she said in the middle of her second glass of wine.

"We got lucky. It really only started out as a work thing," El replied.

"Oh, did you do work up there for your gallery?"

"No, it was Peter, actually," El told her because she didn't look up in time to see that Peter was signaling her not to.

Mary stopped eating, looking surprised. "The FBI helped you find that place?"

"You see! We're not actually the bad guys," Marcus jumped right on that.

His wife ignored him. "Well, I'll definitely be there. I won't miss it just because I'm waiting for someone to come home."

Marcus heaved a sigh. "I never asked you to wait..."

"Do you really think I wanted to show up at my mother's big sixtieth birthday party alone?" Mary retorted. Apparently, this went back a lot further than just today. "She'd already handed me the card of a divorce attorney when you couldn't make it for Christmas."

"She did what?" Marcus gaped at her, and Peter sympathized. That sounded like something not even El's dad would do.

"She probably didn't mean it like that," El offered helplessly.

Mary shook her head. "Oh, she meant it exactly like that."

"What did you do with it?" Marcus asked, dropping his fork, too, so now no one was eating anymore. "The card, I mean?"

Mary pursed her lips but didn't answer.

Peter wasn't an expert on dinner parties, but he figured when people started talking divorce, things probably weren't going very well.

El seemed to agree. "Listen, if you guys need time to talk, we can do this some other time..."

"No, no, I'm sorry. We're being so rude. You wanted to talk about weddings, so let's do that. Although, you probably don't want any advice from us anyway because ours was a bit messy."

"Why? What happened?" El asked cautiously, not sure if asking further questions would make this better or worse.

"We had been dating all the way through college until we suddenly faced the question of what to do next – tie the knot and start an actual life together or split up," Mary explained. "We got lots of unsolicited advice from everyone we knew, especially our parents."

"And I bet you can guess what her mother's opinion was," Marcus said, but Peter wasn't sure if that was a joke they were supposed to laugh about. It seemed like a bit too soon. Perhaps Marcus realized that as well and added, "Anyway, in the end I just asked her to marry me."

Mary nodded. "And I said no, thinking we would never make it, thanks to all those naysayers in my head."

El looked from one to the other. "Clearly that's not the end of the story."

"No, Marcus decided to apply to Quantico, he got in and left, and as soon as he was gone, I realized that I missed him like crazy and didn't care about the odds of getting married young. So I followed him," Mary said, looking at Marcus but not quite meeting his eyes.

He did the same thing. "And we got married a week after that," he remembered.

"You got married within a week?" Peter asked. He didn't really understand why people kept telling him that he and El were moving fast when everyone else seemed to have been a lot faster.

"Yes, but don't tell anyone because we told our parents that we had only gotten engaged and let them help plan the big church wedding they wanted," Mary replied. "And I'm glad that we did because it was actually very special, and I got to wear the white dress and everything. Every woman should get to walk down the aisle like that," she said, patting El's hand.

"Still working on that," she said with a nervous laugh. "How many guests did you have at your official wedding?"

"I don't know. We probably started out with eighty or so, but by the end of the night it was definitely twice that number. People love to crash weddings, so you better have enough food," Mary advised them.

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, one of your old teachers showed up out of nowhere and gave that weird speech that wouldn't end. But there were also the guys from my old band who'd written that special song for us for our very first dance. That was a nice surprise."

"Feels like a lifetime ago," Mary said just when Peter had begun to hope that they had gotten back on track. "But that's life, I guess. Those vows aren't a joke. It's really not just all good times."

"Mary, come on," Marcus protested. "Don't tell them that."

"Why not? I feel responsible because when Peter first brought Elizabeth to that game... you looked so cute, I didn't want to scare you off. So I didn't say too many bad things about being with an FBI agent. But now that you're marrying one of them, I feel like I need to tell you that it's not just a walk in the park."

When no one seemed to know what to say to that, Marcus opted for another joke. "You do realize they'll never have us over here again."

El recovered first. "Don't be silly. We appreciate you sharing all of this with us." Actually, Peter could have done with a little less sharing, but when El reached out to take his hand, he managed a nod. "And we know that it won't always be easy, but good things never are, right? Sometimes it's the fighting that makes it worth it."

To Peter, that sounded more like hidden advice for Marcus and Mary, and they at least exchanged glances that weren't purely hostile.

"Well, I'll drink to that," Marcus agreed.

Mary raised her glass to him, and they managed to keep a semi-pleasant conversation going until they all agreed that it was time to call it a night.

Peter didn't really know how to fill the silence after the two of them had left. It was El who shook her head and said, "I always thought they were so happy."

"Maybe they are. Maybe this was just a bad night," Peter said while they started clearing the table.

"I hope so. But I never knew they were college sweethearts either."

Peter frowned. "Does that make a difference?"

"It means she fell in love with him before he was an FBI agent and married him before he ever really got to be one. She never promised to love the job."

The phone started ringing before Peter could think of a response, and since El turned on the faucet to wash the dishes, he was left to go and answer it. Which was fine because it was Carl calling about a lead in their current case. He suggested that they should meet up tomorrow morning to check it out.

When Peter had jotted down the information and added it to the file he had brought with him in the hope of getting more work done after dinner, El walked over to the couch.

While still drying her hands on a towel, she said, "Honey, I think we should talk."

Peter dropped the pen he had been holding as if it had burned his fingers, her words pushing any thoughts of work far away and warning him to get his priorities straight.

But before he could actually say anything, El quickly sat down next to him. "Okay, that wasn't supposed to sound like a threat," she clarified, biting her lip. "Do you remember that pastor we met on the day of your dad's wedding?"

Of course, he remembered, and he remembered that encounter to be more than a little threatening, but Peter just nodded. He thought it best to gather as much information as possible while El looked like she wanted to keep talking. Not that this was an interrogation or anything. But he couldn't help the feeling that someone or something was on trial here.

"Maybe he was right. Maybe it is important to talk about things, even if they seem scary or silly, or even if we think that we know what we both want. But maybe thinking isn't knowing, and the only really scary thing is to discover that four years later."

If only Peter had known how dangerous it could be to have a co-worker and his wife over for dinner. But not even Peter had thought of checking on the status of their marriage first.

El continued, "I'm not saying I want some stranger to make us fill out a questionnaire. I just want us to talk. Just us. To make sure we're happy with the direction we're going in."

Okay, now Peter had to say something. "Are you not happy?"

"No, honey, that's not what I said." She reached out to take his hand. "I'm happy. I just think that... for instance, a house would be nice."

"A house?" Peter repeated to allow his heart rate to slow down. He had expected something bigger. Well, a house was big, but not on an emotional level. A house was all about numbers, and numbers he could do.

"It doesn't have to be a big house. You know that's not what I want. Just a little more room than a one-bedroom apartment," El explained.

"I get it. I never thought we'd stay here forever, and I would like a garden or a back yard." Peter had very fond memories of playing ball in his dad's back yard. To him, having your own house with a back yard and a fence and all that had always been bigger than just one person, perhaps even bigger than two. But they were at that point now, it was time to have those conversations. "Of course, that's a bit of a luxury in New York City. It won't be easy to find the right one, but I guess we should be able to afford it somehow..."

El smiled at him, but it was a smile that said he amused and exasperated her at the same time. "Honey, stop adding up the numbers in your head," she told him.

"I thought you wanted to talk about buying a house?"

She squeezed his hand. "Yes, but I don't want to buy it right this very minute."

That was good because they still had a wedding to pay for after all. Also, Peter should have known that this wasn't just about a house or only in a loose, hypothetical sort of way. He wasn't a fan of hypotheticals, but he said, "Right, you just want to talk about how it would be nice to have more room so we can better entertain our families for your elaborate Thanksgiving dinners."

"For that, yes, or for our own family," El corrected him gently.

And Peter's heart rate shot right back up. "Honey, are you...?"

El laughed and lifted her hand to his cheek. "No, also not right this very minute. But we've never talked about having children. Not seriously, anyway."

"How serious is serious?" Peter asked, pressing a kiss to her hand.

"Well, if I had told you just now that I was pregnant, would you have been happy?"

"I might have wondered if you had already bought a wedding dress and if so, if you had kept the receipt," Peter replied, but he could tell that El wasn't in the mood to laugh until he gave her a serious answer. "Yes, and no. El, I don't think I could love you or any other person more than I already do, but if we were lucky enough to have a baby, I guess that would do it. But I also love our life together, and honestly, I'm not sure how a baby would fit into that right now."

"You're worried all your hard work at the FBI won't pay off if you had to take time off to take care of a baby." It wasn't an accusation. It was just a statement and one she seemed to understand perfectly.

So Peter asked, "Aren't you?"

"Actually, I've been thinking about this ever since I got promoted. I thought it would make me feel fulfilled, and it did. But I also realized that this is it for me. There's nowhere left to go, not at the DeArmitt Gallery, anyway. I really like working there, but if the right adventure presented itself, I think I'd be willing to try something new. And a baby would definitely be that kind of adventure," El confessed.

Peter could tell that she wanted this, and as was often the case, that made him want it even more, too. But it still scared him a little. His work schedule was as unpredictable as ever, and he didn't want El to give up her career so easily, not if he wasn't sure he could be there to help, share the load, or even take over if she changed her mind.

"How about this?" Peter said while taking both of El's hands in his. "Let's get married, buy a house, make sure we can still pay all the bills, and in the meantime, I'll find out what options I have at the FBI when it comes to taking leave or more flexible working hours. I'll figure it out, El, so we're ready."

"I like that." A part of her seemed to suspect that Peter's job would never offer the kind of flexibility (or safety) that would be ideal for raising a child, but El looked happy about his willingness to try and gave him a kiss that said as much.

Then she leaned back and smiled at him curiously. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

Peter wasn't sure if following the baby making plans was very wise, but he felt as if they hadn't actually talked about the elephant in the room yet, or what Mary and Marcus' argument had made into elephant in the room. He could just as well get the ball rolling.

"There might be," he said and got up to grab what he needed out of a desk drawer.

El looked confused when he handed it to her. "This looks like an FBI handbook."

"It is," Peter nodded. "I would like you to read it so you get a better understanding of some of our procedures and recommendations for certain situations."

"Honey, when I said that I might be ready for a new adventure, I didn't mean that I want to become an FBI agent," El joked, but Peter wasn't surprised that she didn't immediately understand what he was getting at.

"No, but I'm hoping that you still want to marry one. And once you are my wife, it'll be public record that you're the most important person in my life, easily accessible to anyone, including criminals. That's why I would feel better if you knew more about them, too, specifically how to be safe when I can't be there," Peter explained a bit nervously. "I know it's a lot to ask, but if you have to make a decision whether you really want to promise 'to love the job', then at least it can be an informed one."

El dropped the handbook into her lap. "I wasn't talking about us when I said that. Honey, you know I already made my decision, not necessarily to love the job but to respect it, because I love and respect you. And if you want me to read this, then I will. As long as there won't be a pop quiz at the end."

Somehow her fierceness and passion still caught Peter by surprise every now and then. He didn't feel like he needed to say anything. He just sat there and thanked his lucky stars.

"Honey, why do you look so surprised?" El asked him.

"I thought you might be at least a little bit scared," Peter admitted.

"Scared of hypothetical criminals coming after me?"

"They are not altogether hypothetical," he said, although he had no idea why he tried to scare her when he should be happy that she wasn't.

It didn't work anyway. El just shrugged and smiled. "At least they'd be coming after me then and not you."

Peter shook his head, deciding not to point out that coming after El was a surefire way of coming after him. After all, he had no intentions of allowing that to happen. He settled for a grin. "You're unbelievable, and I love you."

* * *

"Honey, why do you always have to announce yourself as a federal agent before you try to arrest someone? It seems to me like all you do is give them an opportunity to run."

El was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, flipping through the FBI handbook Peter had given her, while he tried to focus on traffic – which wasn't an easy feat with the love of his life questioning every rule the FBI had ever taught him.

"What would you have us do, El? Shoot them on sight?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "They are criminals. I'd say they had it coming."

Peter tried not to laugh. "Good to know you have such a firm grasp of our justice system, honey." He snuck a peak at how much of the book she had already read. "Looks like it's not as much of a boring read as I feared."

"It's not too bad. But I'm still waiting for the part about car chases," El teased.

"I told you, we don't actually do those. Not like that anyway."

El perked up. "How do you do it then?"

"If at all, we might tail a suspect – discreetly," Peter replied.

"Then why don't you show me how to do that?"

Peter shook his head. "Because you don't need to know that."

"What if I'm being followed by someone?" El asked shrewdly.

He dared to take his eyes off the road to look at her. She gave him a dazzling smile. Peter wasn't sure if he should regret giving her that handbook or if he simply loved her all the more for taking such an interest. "All right," he said eventually and double-parked for a minute so they could switch places. They were on their way home from a Sunday brunch and not in any hurry.

"Are we still going home?" El asked when she was behind the wheel.

Peter shrugged. "You wanted to drive, so go ahead and drive, honey." She did, and after a few minutes Peter asked, "Okay, now which car is following us?"

"You mean I should pick one?"

"No, I want you to tell me which car has actually been behind us for the past five blocks."

El glanced at the rearview mirror to take a look at the cars behind them. "I have no idea. All of them? I didn't know we were doing this already."

Peter laughed. "Honey, if anyone were to follow you, they wouldn't give you a heads-up either. Which is why the first thing you need to do is to be aware of your surroundings and keep track of the cars behind you – preferably without crashing into the car in front," he added when El cut it a little close with a taxi that slowed suddenly.

"Right, it's the blue SUV right behind us, isn't it?" El guessed.

"No, but let's pretend it is. Now, if they knew what they were doing, they wouldn't be right behind you because that's too obvious. There would probably be one or two cars between you, which is also what you're going to do now."

"Um..." El glanced from the road to the rearview mirror to Peter. "I'm going to do what?"

"Slow down, honey, so that taxi in front of us can get out of our way," he instructed her patiently. "Now speed up again and change lanes to get in front of that black Chevrolet. Good, and now you have one buffer car between you and the SUV. This makes it harder for them to spot you and to follow you. The bigger the buffer you can put between you, the better. Go ahead and try to get another buffer car."

"Okay, got it," El nodded, and Peter tried not to smile too much while he watched. Her hold on the steering wheel was tight and full of energy, and she kept glancing at the rearview mirror like a pro. Or at least she looked good while she did it.

"Now try to maintain a secure distance and look out for a chance to lose them."

"How do I do that?" El asked eagerly.

Peter pointed ahead of them. "For example, at that next intersection. Don't signal that you're going to turn until right before the light turns red."

"Honey, that sounds dangerous."

When he saw the worry lines creasing her forehead, Peter realized that he had gotten a bit carried away. He was not back in Quantico after all, and they could get into serious trouble for being a traffic hazard. "You're right. It is, and that's why we don't do car chases. So let's just... Whoa!"

El had suddenly floored the accelerator and made a hazardous turn that got them dangerously close to jumping a red light.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked to hide the fact that he had been holding on to the door handle during El's wild maneuver.

"I did what you told me to do," she replied cheerily and turned to look over her shoulder. "And we lost the SUV!"

"That's because they were never actually following us to begin with," Peter said, but he couldn't bring himself not to smile. "That was some very impressive driving."

El's eyes were dancing merrily. "Yeah? You think the FBI would approve?"

"I certainly do. You looked pretty damn sexy," he told her.

El grinned and leaned over to kiss him.

Someone honked at them angrily.

Peter winced and made sure to keep his hands to himself. He usually hated these kinds of drivers who were too self-absorbed to care that they were slowing down traffic. "Okay, maybe we should just go home now."

Still, they were both smiling for the rest of the drive.

When they got home and hung up their jackets, El paused and looked thoughtfully at the new shoulder holster Peter had bought and left right there next to his jacket so he wouldn't forget to put it on tomorrow rather than his old hip holster.

"No," he said decisively when he had followed her gaze.

El raised her eyebrows at him. "I didn't even say anything."

"You were about to, and the answer is no."

She shrugged her shoulders as if that was fine with her, but after only a couple of steps into the kitchen, she turned around again. "But isn't the purpose of all this to make both of us feel better about my safety?"

"Exactly, and the best way to stay safe is to stay away from guns. For you, I mean," Peter added because he did realize how problematic that statement was for an FBI agent.

Which was probably why El gave him that look. "I agree. But you brought one into our home, and I don't know the first thing about handling it. Is that being safe?"

Sometimes it was exhausting how smart El was and how she never failed to make a convincing argument, even when Peter really wanted to disagree with her. But they both knew that of the two of them he was the little boy scout who usually believed in always being prepared. He had a hard time making a case that there would never ever be a reason for El to pick up his gun when in truth there was no way of knowing that for sure.

Still, he felt uneasy when he retrieved his weapon and put it on the kitchen counter. "Okay, so this is a SIG Sauer 9 mm handgun. It's not very heavy with not much of a recoil."

"Is that good?" El asked. Now that Peter had given into her request, she looked rather skeptical as well. He took that to be a good thing.

"It's good if you had to shoot it without having much experience with firearms. But you won't shoot it, so it's not actually relevant." Peter picked up the gun and removed the clip. Even though El watched him do that, he clarified, "It's not loaded," before handing it to her.

She weighed it in her hand like a time bomb before gripping it tighter and aiming it loosely at nothing in particular.

Peter got the chills when he saw that and prayed that this would never be of any relevance in El's life because she would probably sooner shoot herself than anything else. "No, honey, this is not like in the movies. Hold it with your right hand and bring up your left hand from underneath to support it and keep it steady." He helped to correct her hold on the weapon, but he avoided any other bodily contact while he showed her. This was not miniature golf and they weren't on a date. He could not risk getting distracted. "Good, now you can try to take aim."

El lifted her hands and aimed the gun at a flower pod, and to Peter's dismay, she actually looked good doing it. But the click of the empty chamber when El suddenly pulled the trigger had him quickly snap out of it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," she said, biting her lip and lowering the gun.

Peter sighed. "Most important lesson of the day: Don't put your finger on the trigger unless you actually want to shoot."

"I don't. I don't think I could ever point this at another living being," El admitted quietly. "Not that I think it's wrong when you're doing it..." she added quickly, turning around to look at him and almost accidentally pointing the gun at him after all.

"That's okay, honey. I'm glad you feel that way. It's what makes you you," Peter assured her.

As much as he wanted to stop this, El's precarious handling of the gun had filled his head with ridiculous horror scenarios about El having to use his weapon and doing it wrong. He took the gun from her hand to put the clip back in and then offered it back to her. "It's loaded now."

Her eyes were round with apprehension, but El's hands were surprisingly steady when she took it. "Oh, it's a lot heavier now," she noticed, which was exactly why he had given it back to her. No point in getting a feel for a gun unless it was real.

And because it was real, Peter snapped, "El, what did I just say?"

"Sorry," she replied, removing her finger from the trigger.

"Okay, I'm only going to show you this once," Peter announced slowly. "This is how you release the safety." He showed it to her and let her do it, and when neither one of them got shot, he figured they had pushed their luck enough for one day. He put the gun away safely and breathed a sigh of relief.

El walked up to him and gave him a lingering kiss that eased the rest of the tension.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For trusting me."

Peter wondered whether he should tell her that this wasn't so much about trust as it was about the fact that his need to protect her had become one of his basic survival instincts. But he decided that kissing her back was enough.

* * *

She had thought long and hard about whether to call Peter or not, but she was going crazy and it was barely past noon. It was her day off, and Elizabeth had wanted to get so many things done around the apartment, but she couldn't concentrate. In the end, she surrendered and called Peter at work.

" _Hey, honey. What's up?"_ he answered right away but in a clipped voice.

Elizabeth knew that tone. It was his 'I picked up the phone because I love you, but I really, really don't have time to talk' voice. She usually tried to get him to just come out with it and say that, but today she really, really needed to talk to him anyway.

"Honey, there's a suspicious van parked outside the apartment building."

" _What?"_

"There's a van outside that's been sitting there for three days straight," Elizabeth elaborated.

She could practically hear Peter shake his head on the other end. _"I didn't notice anything..."_

"That's because you've been working for three days straight," Elizabeth replied. She hadn't paid attention to it either before staying home today had made her notice it every time she looked out the window.

" _Honey, I know this case is exhausting..."_ Peter was about to go off on one of his apology-explanations, but Elizabeth cut him off.

"I'm not complaining. I'm just telling you why you didn't notice it. But it's there, and there's something off about it. Don't you use a van for surveillance or something like that?"

" _Yes, we do that because usually people don't care about utility vans,"_ Peter said pointedly, but he seemed to decide to humor her. _"What kind of van is it?"_

Elizabeth walked back to the window. "It has a logo on it from some kind of telephone company. I've never seen it before."

" _Then they're probably fixing phones somewhere."_

"But I'm on the phone. If there was something wrong with the phone lines, wouldn't it affect the whole building?"

" _Maybe it's the building across the street."_

She had to admit that was a possibility, but what would take this long to fix? "Okay, I know this sounds ridiculous, but the handbook said to look for patterns in your surroundings and if those patterns change, it usually means something."

" _That's a clever observation, honey, but it's usually not that simple in real life,"_ Peter said hesitantly.

But whether he regretted giving her that handbook or not wasn't really her concern right now. "I know, but I'm telling you, Peter, I'm not making this up."

" _Okay, I'll..."_

She never got to hear what he was going to say or do because the phone just cut off. Elizabeth stared at it, unsure what to think. Apparently, there really was something wrong with the phone lines. Only why now after the repair truck had already been out there for several days? That seemed awfully convenient.

But she had run out of options, so Elizabeth tried to force herself to go back to her shopping list. She was still very much on edge, however, so as soon as she heard voices coming from the hallway outside the apartment, she practically flew to the door to look through the peephole.

She spotted two men wearing phone company uniforms and carrying duffel bags. They knocked at the apartment two doors down. The Ryans lived there, but it was their young son who opened the door. He was often home alone for a few hours when school let out early. Elizabeth couldn't hear much of their conversation, but he let the two men inside the apartment.

Elizabeth made a mental note to teach any future child of hers not to do that. Like ever. Then again, they were repairmen from the phone company. They were not going to do anything to the kid, right? Elizabeth started pacing until the two phone guys exited the apartment again. The Ryans' son looked no worse for wear and not the least bit concerned when he slammed the door shut behind them.

Elizabeth relaxed slightly until the two repairmen went right past her door, ignoring it completely, and instead knocked on the door of Mrs. Alderman. That didn't make any sense. She knew that her phone didn't work, so why would they just skip her apartment like that? Mrs. Alderman took her sweet time opening. She was 75 and in desperate need of a hearing aid, but after a bit of a shouting match between her and the two phone repair guys, she let them come inside.

They were picking what they considered to be weak targets. That had to be it. A child and an elderly woman who lived alone were less likely to question their credibility, especially since the phones were actually out and they couldn't call anyone to verify. These two men – whoever they really were – must have cased the building first to find out who lived where. Elizabeth had heard Peter talk about something like that once, and it sounded like something criminals would do. It made perfect sense. Well, it was a theory, anyway.

She had to tell Peter! Except, the phones still weren't working. She really needed to get a cell phone. How else was she supposed to help Mrs. Alderman?

Without bothering to think about it for too long, Elizabeth ripped open a box of cookies and poured them on a platter. Then she carried that over to Mrs. Alderman's and knocked.

"Hello, Mrs. Alderman," she said loudly when the older woman opened the door. "I've been baking, and I thought maybe you'd like to have some cookies," she lied through her teeth.

"Oh, that is very kind of you. Please come in," Mrs. Alderman invited her, and Elizabeth took a deep breath before following her inside the apartment.

She didn't really have a plan. She was mostly hoping that her presence might scare them off or something like that. One of the two men stood next to the phone (Mrs. Alderman didn't have a cordless phone yet), and he did have some sort of device in his hand that could have something to do with fixing phones. He looked surprised to see Elizabeth and not pleasantly so. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that his partner was nowhere to be seen. But Elizabeth could hear him rummaging about in the bedroom. She was pretty sure there were no phone lines in there but probably all of Mrs. Alderman's jewelry or money or whatever else of value one might hide at home.

Mrs. Alderman sat on the couch and Elizabeth set the platter on the coffee table. Then she turned towards the phony phone company employee. "What's wrong with the phones?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Just a faulty cable."

"How do you fix that from up here? Shouldn't you go down to the junction room?"

"We will. We just need to check the signal strength on this end." It sounded like bullshit because it probably was. Elizabeth just wasn't sure if calling him on it was a good idea. But if she didn't, they would simply make off with Mrs. Alderman's savings.

"Then what is your partner looking for in the bedroom?" she asked, trying to make her voice sound steady.

The phony guy took a step towards her to demonstrate that he was taller and stronger than she was – and most certainly more so than Mrs. Alderman. "Listen, lady, I don't know what your deal is, but I suggest you just sit down, eat your cookies, and let us do our job."

"Is something wrong?" Mrs. Alderman asked, confused by the sudden tension.

If only that damn handbook had been more specific about what to do in a situation like this. Then again, if Elizabeth were an actual FBI agent, she'd have options like arresting or overpowering these guys. Since that wasn't the case, she could only hope to scare them off or stall them, she wasn't quite sure which.

"No, Mrs. Alderman, nothing's wrong. My fiancé will be home soon. You remember Peter, right?" She said loudly, so the older woman would hear.

"Oh yes, you two make such a lovely couple. Does he still work for the FBI?" Mrs. Alderman asked good-naturedly.

The atmosphere in the room shifted almost instantaneously.

"Did she just say FBI?" The voice came from behind her, and so Elizabeth turned around to the second man who had been searching the bedroom. She froze when she saw that he held a half-open duffel bag in one hand and a gun in the other.

But she was not the only one who was surprised. "Shit, what the hell are you doing with that gun?" his partner cursed. "I said no guns!"

"You also said we wouldn't get caught!"

"We didn't!"

"But she said she's FBI!"

"No, she said her fiancé is FBI, and he wouldn't give a shit about us if you hadn't just started waving that gun in her face!"

Elizabeth was tempted to look back and forth between them, but she focused on the gun. She noticed that 'waving' was an accurate description for what that guy was doing. He held it with just one hand and turned sideways. It didn't look as if he had a lot more experience than she did. That made her feel marginally better. But even if he missed her, he could still hit Mrs. Alderman.

"What's going on?" the elderly woman asked, frightened by the sudden shouting.

They definitely had to defuse the situation. "It's okay, Mrs. Alderman," Elizabeth told her, and to the man with the gun she said, "Your partner is right. You can just leave. My fiancé doesn't need to know about this. He won't care as long as you don't hurt us." Oh, he would care, but the handbook said to establish some sort of connection, to make yourself more human and harder to kill.

"Yeah, right, as if you won't tell him who we are," replied the guy with the duffel bag, pointing at her with his gun as if it were nothing more than a giant foam finger.

"I don't know who you are," Elizabeth said, quickly averting her eyes. Better not to stare too much. "And I don't care. I'm sure you have a reason for doing this. Just go."

For a moment, the apartment was quiet, and then the blue light of a police car flashed once outside the window.

 _Peter!_ Elizabeth thought.

"Shit! The cops are here!" the phony guy cursed.

Elizabeth had mixed feelings. She was glad that the NYPD had arrived, or perhaps even the FBI, and that Peter had taken her serious enough to do something. But she didn't know what that meant for her and Mrs. Alderman.

Neither, apparently, did the two men in the room with them. "We gotta go! Take the backdoor in the basement!"

"What about the van?"

"Too late. The cops have it."

"What about them?"

"What about them?"

"We can't leave them. They're gonna tell!"

"So what? You wanna shoot them?"

Elizabeth didn't think. She just acted on instinct. She dashed over to the window and threw it open. "Peter! They're at Mrs. Alderman's, and they have a gun!" she screamed.

The only evidence she had that Peter was even down there was a feeling, but she thought she heard him yell her name in response. She couldn't look because she had dropped to the floor upon hearing a loud bang behind her.

Thankfully, it wasn't a bullet being fired. It was the door being hastily thrown open and slammed into the wall. The two thieves had decided to make a run for it after all.

Elizabeth got back to her feet and rested a hand on Mrs. Alderman's shoulder to calm her down. All the while listening to lots of people running up and down the stairwell. She wished she could have told Peter that they were trying to go through the basement, but he would probably figure that out on his own. After studying the handbook, she was pretty sure that he knew all the ins and outs of the building. She heard yelling and one shot being fired that got her heart racing again. But it wasn't followed by anything that sounded like someone reacting to a medical emergency, so she hoped it was okay.

Eventually, there were footsteps approaching. "El?!" Peter came rushing in through the open door, and El met him halfway, launching herself into his arms.

Peter hugged her close, then used both hands to wipe her hair out of her face and caress her cheeks with his thumbs. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. So is Mrs. Alderman. Right, Mrs. Alderman?"

"What did you say, dear?"

"See, she's fine."

Peter shook his head. "What are you even doing over here?"

"I figured out what they were doing and I was trying to help Mrs. Alderman. I came over with a platter of cookies, and I don't know, I guess I distracted them long enough for you to show up by doing what the handbook said, don't antagonize..."

"I gave you that so you would be safe, not so you could play at being an FBI agent!" Peter interrupted her forcefully, his hands falling away from her face.

Taken aback by the intensity of his reaction, Elizabeth didn't know how to respond. The glimmer of fear in Peter's eyes was deeply familiar to her, and yet she couldn't bring herself to regret her actions. She wondered if this was how Peter usually felt.

"Ma'am?" A police officer approached her. He was polite but insistent.

They needed her to make a statement and to come down to the precinct since this fell within NYPD jurisdiction. Peter was only here because he had alerted the police after she had called him, and apparently, because he had been worried about her.

Elizabeth looked to Peter for guidance, but he just gave her a nod, telling her it was okay to go with the cops.

Down at the precinct Elizabeth recounted what had happened to what felt like a gazillion different officers and detectives. In turn, she learned that both men had been arrested and that the police had not only recovered the duffel bags but more stolen items that had already been inside the van. It seemed the two thieves had pulled this off successfully on a couple of other buildings in the neighborhood before things had gone wrong today.

Sitting with a stale cup of coffee in the precinct hallway, Elizabeth was beginning to get tired of all this, the stress finally getting to her and wearing her down. Her heart leaped when Peter finally joined her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "I spoke with the captain. They have everything they need now. Come on, I'm taking you home."

Elizabeth sighed in relief and grabbed her purse. "Is this what you really do all day? Sit around and fill out paperwork?" she asked while getting up from the rather uncomfortable plastic chair.

"Feels that way sometimes," Peter replied. "But you impressed the hell out of everyone here," he said while he helped her put her coat on.

"I did?" she asked cautiously since his earlier reaction hadn't been a very positive one.

But Peter nodded. "This was all you, El. From calling it in to going in with them and letting us know where they were."

"So, not so bad for playing at being an FBI agent?" she dared to say with the trace of a smile.

Peter sighed, regret about his own words clearly etched on his face. "Honey, I'm so proud of you, I would marry you right now if we weren't already paying for a big wedding. Please just don't make a habit of this."

Elizabeth laughed and took his hand. "Don't worry. This was more than enough excitement for me. Being a witness already worked out perfectly for me once. I wasn't looking for a repeat." She headed for the exit, but when Peter stopped, she had to do the same and turned around to look at him questioningly.

"Is this how my job makes you feel?" he asked softly. Elizabeth didn't need to ask which feeling he meant. She could see the confusing and conflicting mix of absolute terror and overwhelming pride right there in his eyes.

"Sometimes," she admitted.

Peter cocked his head with a self-deprecating smile. "And you're sure you want to marry me?"

Not bothered by the fact that they were still standing in the middle of the precinct, Elizabeth pressed a kiss to his lips. "Very sure."


	17. Are you Ready?

As an FBI agent it was in his blood to hate surprises. On the job, it usually meant that someone had missed a critical piece of intel. Off the job, Peter still preferred to always know what to expect. One of the things he expected and looked forward to almost every day was to come home from work to spend the evening with El.

So when Peter entered the apartment and found himself face to face with a stranger, he was less than thrilled.

The unknown woman with short black hair and an energetic bounce in her step wasn't put off in the slightest. "Ah, you must be my groom."

"Excuse me?"

"It's Peter, right? I heard a lot about you."

"And who exactly are you?" Peter asked, barely hiding his annoyance.

"Sally Davis. I'm here to talk about the wedding," she introduced herself as if that explained everything. "So, do you have your tux picked out yet?"

Peter glanced at the dinner table behind her. It was buried underneath an onslaught of brochures, flyers and flower samples. It looked like this woman was planning to commandeer his nice, quiet evening with his fiancée. He wondered why El hadn't warned him about this. More importantly, he wondered where El was.

"Um, yes," he answered distractedly.

"Good. And how about a haircut?" Sally eyed Peter's hair as if she was thinking about touching it.

He quickly took a step back. "My hair is fine."

"Mhm, and do you think 'fine' is appropriate, compared to the hours your bride is going to spend on getting her hair done and fixing her face and the dress and everything underneath?"

Peter stared at this woman for a few seconds. "Who are you again?"

"Sally Davis. Mr. Salinger hired me to run the Seaside Inn, and since you're going to be our first wedding, we want everything to be perfect, right?"

That felt like a rhetorical question. Thankfully, El finally joined them, coming out of the bathroom. "Hey, honey," she greeted him cheerfully, and when she kissed him hello, Sally was nice enough to turn around and give them a moment. "I see you've met Sally."

"I don't know. But she most certainly met me," Peter replied.

El chuckled. "She's great, isn't she? I reached out to her, and she said she was going to be in the city and offered to come over so we could talk face to face," she explained. Her expression softened when she saw the dubious look on Peter's face. "You don't have to join us if you don't want to."

"I have a feeling it would be dangerous not to," Peter said, thinking about how he now had to remember to get a haircut.

El squeezed his hand before they joined Sally at the dinner table.

What followed was a dizzying back and forth about seating arrangements, ordering and setting up chairs, choosing a local florist and deciding when the flowers should be delivered, questions regarding the menu, emergency plans for bad weather, and making a schedule to determine the right order for everything and everyone.

Technically, this was his wedding, too, but Peter felt like the odd one out as he watched these two women plan everything in minutiae detail with relentless energy. El had always been a go-getter when it came to things she was passionate about, and it seemed she had found a like-minded spirit in this Sally woman. And Peter was fine with holding back. He had tried to be as involved in this process as El had wanted him to be. But right now, she clearly had everything under control, and Peter knew when he wasn't needed. He didn't mind as long as El looked happy.

"Now, for the night before the wedding I have reserved the room at the inn that you asked for, Elizabeth. I feel like there's a story there, but feel free to keep it to yourself. And Peter, you have to decide if you want me to reserve a room for you as well or if you want to drive up in the morning before the ceremony," Sally said when they had exhausted most of the other topics.

Peter furrowed his brow. "Why can't we stay in the same room?"

"Because it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," Sally replied as if that should have been perfectly obvious.

Perhaps it was, but that didn't mean Peter had to like it. "Do we believe in that sort of thing?"

El shrugged. "It's tradition."

"Tell you what. I'll give you adjoining rooms, and then you two crazy kids are free to decide if you can't stay away from each other," Sally suggested with a wink. "Now I have to get going, but we'll be in touch."

"Yes, thank you so much," El said.

"Oh no, thank you. I have to admit I was a little nervous because Mr. Salinger wants this wedding to go off without a hitch. For you, of course, but also because it's important for the inn since it's so new. But I have a feeling you guys will make me look good."

El smiled, first at her and then at Peter. "We hope so."

Sally held out her hand to Peter. "It was nice to meet you, Peter. Just don't bring your gun to the wedding."

He had indeed forgotten to put it away tonight because he had been so surprised to be greeted by this woman rather than El. But she didn't wait for him to explain that and was already out the door.

That gave Peter the chance to finally take off his weapon and change into more comfortable clothes. When he returned to the living room, El was bent over the dinner table, looking thoughtfully at the mess of brochures and wedding papers she had been in the process of putting away.

"Everything okay, honey?" Peter asked, resting a hand on her lower back.

"I'm wondering if we should rethink the nice chairs we picked out," El replied.

"I thought you said we won't make our guests sit on cheap plastic chairs," Peter reminded her.

El sighed. "Yes, but the chairs we like are a lot more expensive, and since our guest list seems to have grown in proportion to the venue..."

"No, don't do that, honey. We agreed that we didn't want to look back on our wedding and regret that we didn't get the nice chairs. It'll be fine," Peter insisted.

Actually, the amount of money they were paying for this wedding was rapidly growing beyond his wildest expectations. But he was determined not to pull the plug unless they absolutely had to.

"Okay, then maybe we should think about what my parents offered..."

"No," Peter interrupted her gently but quickly.

El gave him a look. "You know it's tradition for the family of the bride to pay for the wedding."

"I don't care about tradition," Peter said. Especially not when it came to sleeping apart the night before the wedding.

"Then why did you go to my dad to tell him that you wanted to marry me?" El wanted to know.

"Because he wasn't exactly my biggest fan and I wanted to air things out, so you wouldn't get caught in the crosshairs."

That answer earned him a smile before El continued to pack things up.

"And that tradition, at least, is about respect and making sure that the woman we both love will be happy," Peter elaborated. "The bride's family paying for the wedding feels like they need to sweeten the deal so someone will take their daughter off their hands."

El seemed unsure whether to laugh or shake her head about that. "Well, that's not why my parents want to help out."

"I know, but it won't make your dad respect me more if I take his money."

El raised an eyebrow. "If _you_ take _his_ money?"

"I meant, if we take their money," Peter amended quickly. "See, that's what you get for talking about tradition." El laughed, which encouraged him to point out, "And you're the one who always tries to get your parents to stop sending money for birthdays and Christmases."

"I know, but this is a little bigger than that. I just don't want to throw a wrench into our plans for our life after the wedding simply because I needed to have nice chairs," El said.

"Because _we_ needed to have nice chairs," Peter corrected her this time while he wrapped his arms around her. "And there'll be no wrenches of any kind."

"Okay, if you're sure. And I guess my parents' offer isn't going anywhere."

"Honey, can you please just have a little faith in your husband with the accounting degree?"

El tilted her head back so she could smile up at him. "My husband?"

"To-be," Peter added with a lopsided grin.

"I like how that sounds. And yes, I have complete faith in you."

Peter didn't bother to put into words how he couldn't wait for her to become his wife and simply expressed his feelings in a kiss.

Unfortunately, El insisted on stepping back out of his arms to finish cleaning up before they could get too carried away. "At least we don't have to pay for an expensive honeymoon on top of everything else," she said while she cleared the dinner table.

Their current plan was to just stay at the inn to enjoy the beach and each other because Peter couldn't get enough time off work for an extended stay somewhere else. But he was still trying to work that out with Hughes because he figured that he wouldn't get as good an excuse as his wedding again any time soon. He kept that to himself, though, because he wasn't about to make El any promises he wasn't sure he could keep. She insisted that she was fine with just staying in the Hamptons. But in cases like this, Peter still had a hard time figuring out if she truly, honestly didn't mind or if she really only loved him so much that she didn't want to hurt him by being upset. Both seemed equally possible and equally lovable.

Before Peter could get lost in that little conundrum, El had already moved on. "So what's this I hear about you already having picked out a tux? Where is it then?"

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just double-checking."

"To make sure I have one or to make sure you approve?" he asked.

El smiled sheepishly. "A little bit of both."

"I thought you had complete faith in me," Peter reminded her.

"Yes, but, honey, you have a degree in accounting, not in wedding fashion," she teased him with a brilliant smile.

"Well, you show me yours, I'll show you mine," Peter offered.

El put all the wedding papers in a drawer and closed it with a decisive thud. "Oh no, that is one tradition we're definitely not going to break."

"Because you actually believe it's bad luck?"

"Because I'm enough of a little girl to want that moment to be special," she admitted.

Now that El seemed done with cleaning up and worrying about money and making wedding plans, Peter tried to pull her back into his arms. "The dress is not what's going to make it special."

"I know. But I'll only get to wear it once, so I want to make the most of it," El said, allowing herself to relax in his embrace.

"How much do you pay for something that you can only wear once?" Peter wondered, not sure he really wanted to know.

And El only smiled mysteriously. "Enough for you to better be careful when you take it off me."

"Right, I think I should practice that," Peter said with as much of a serious face as he could muster while El laughed and sealed his lips with a kiss.

* * *

Peter hated heat waves. It was nearly impossible to look and act like a respectable member of federal law enforcement when he was sweating like crazy and could barely think straight. The only good thing about it was that the same was true for criminals, and people generally seemed to move at a slower pace. Except for those who loved the heat.

Peter had never been one of them. All he wanted to do at the end of a grueling hot workday was to go home and don't move. Ideally, El would even take pity on him and bring him a cold beer from the fridge. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards today. Somehow he had promised El to meet her in a small dance studio for a refresher course before the wedding. He had no idea what he was supposed to refresh since he had never really learned to dance in the first place, and right now there was nothing fresh about him. But El had assured him that this course was meant for people who for some reason or another, for example a wedding, needed to learn just a couple of basic steps.

When Peter entered the studio, the room was stifling, and he couldn't see a familiar face among the women who were milling around and fanning themselves. For a scary couple of seconds Peter thought he would be the only man here, but then he spotted them, all clustered in a corner around the only fan that did little to improve the thick air. Peter resisted the urge to join them and again scanned the room for El, but she didn't seem to be here yet.

He debated leaving and waiting outside (the downside being that he might not be able to make himself go back in) when El walked up to him from behind, her hand on his back first alerting him to her presence. She ran that hand up his arm and then cupped his face for a kiss that was surprisingly bold for a room full of people.

"Hey, honey. Thanks for meeting me here," she said with an open smile.

"What was that for?" Peter asked, referring to the kiss. Not that he was complaining, but he liked to keep tabs on situations where he had evidently done something right.

El chuckled. "For looking at a room full of barely dressed women and not caring about any of them."

Now that she mentioned it, the theme among the women in the room really did seem to be dresses that required the least amount of fabric. Sometimes Peter thought it was incredibly unfair that he had no choice but to stick to his suit. He had put on a fresh shirt after work and left the suit jacket in the car, and still he felt uncomfortably hot.

Of course, that didn't get any better with El now by his side. She wore a halter neck dress that ended above the knees and sported a fairly plunging neckline. It made Peter wish they could spend this evening doing something else. Except, it was almost too warm for that, too. He really didn't know how he had gotten roped into something as physically active as dancing lessons.

Then he looked at El again and knew how.

"Why would I care about anyone except my beautiful fiancée?" he said, a little half-heartedly perhaps, but only because of the heat, not because it wasn't true.

El just gave him a knowing smile. "Honey, I know you would rather be home, watching a game and enjoying a cold beer."

"Only if you're there with me," Peter replied, which was also (mostly) true.

"Well, I appreciate you doing this."

Finally, the dance instructor showed up, and she was clearly one of those people who wasn't bothered by how many degrees it was.

"Heat and passion are exactly what you need for dancing, so this is actually the perfect weather. Now, find your partner and we'll start nice and easy – with a waltz."

That was good. Their first dance at the wedding would probably be a waltz, so maybe if they mastered that one, they could leave early. Peter took El's right hand in his left one and put his other hand on her back. Her exposed skin felt warm to the touch right away.

"Sorry it's so hot and sweaty," Peter said when they started to sway to the music. He had tried to wipe his palms on his pants, but he knew that the skin-to-skin contact would do away with whatever good that had done.

El leaned in closer. "You didn't mind getting hot and sweaty last night."

Peter almost stepped on her right foot with full force. "Not helping with my concentration, El," he warned her.

All El did was laugh.

That actually helped Peter to get into the spirit of this dancing class. Really, what it all came down to was publicly sanctioned bodily contact while gazing into the eyes of the woman he loved. That wasn't so bad. Also, Peter had always been an overachiever who hated failing, even in an exercise that he hadn't chosen.

The instructor seemed happy enough with what they were doing and even commended Peter for his posture before moving on to other couples, which made him grin just a little.

"Look who's suddenly smiling," El noticed. "I don't think I've seen you this happy since this heat wave started."

"No, that's not true," Peter tried to shrug it off.

El wasn't fooled, which probably meant that he would never again get out of this dancing thing. "While you're in a good mood, I've been meaning to tell you that Mom and Maddie want me to go on a trip with them, just for a weekend, or maybe I could use one of my days off to make it a long one. It's supposed to be a bit of a bachelorette thing."

"I thought you were having that party the week after next."

"Yes, but my mom isn't going to come to that one," El said.

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Why not? What are you going to do at that party? Anything I should know about?"

"I don't know. I'm not the one planning it," El answered lightly, which was only more worrisome. "But that trip would just be a nice spa weekend."

"You don't need a spa weekend. You're already too beautiful," Peter gave it a try.

El just smiled. "It's meant to be relaxing. And I guess my mom wants to use her last chance to pass on some motherly advice about marriage."

"Should I be worried?" Peter asked.

"Only if I don't go."

He sighed. "You're really going to leave me to suffer alone in this 90-degree weather?"

El rubbed his arm. "Oh, honey, do you want to come on a spa trip with my mother, my sister, and me?"

Peter made a face. "No, I guess I'll be fine. But I want a picture if you do one of those mud baths."

"Right now, I would much rather take a cold shower," El said, admitting that the heat was getting to her, too.

"Too bad, honey, because first we're going to learn how to cha-cha-cha," Peter replied, following the cheerful announcement of their instructor.

They both laughed, held on to one another, and continued to discover that finding the right rhythm – with the right partner – was as easy as breathing.

* * *

He had often been told that being in a serious, committed relationship would change him. But Peter had never fully believed that. Sure, being with El had changed his life, but he was still the same no-nonsense, responsible, stand-up guy who was dedicated to his work and liked baseball, just with the added bonus of also being in love with a wonderful woman.

Or so he had thought. Ever since he had been a teenager, he had liked his freedom and had never minded being alone. But when El left on that spa trip, he suddenly hated every minute of it. Peter tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous. It was only one weekend after all. But there it was.

He missed her gentle teasing when he reached for a second cup of coffee in the morning and she told him that he was drinking too much caffeine. He missed her smile when he had to leave for the office and told her he loved her. He missed how she sometimes made sure that dinner wasn't quite ready yet when he came home because she hated how cliché that was but she simply enjoyed cooking for them too much. He missed the way she would snuggle up to him on the couch and pretend to be interested in baseball. And he most definitely missed holding her in his arms at night.

This had once been his apartment, but now, everywhere he looked he saw El. She was the heart of this place and his life, really. By that analogy, with El being gone, the apartment would now be in a state of cardiac arrest. No wonder he was so miserable.

Peter tried to use the opportunity to work on his vows. They had both agreed to write their own wedding vows. At the time, he had thought it would be easy to come up with a few simple sentences to express how he felt about El. He had since then changed his mind. He had hoped that it would be less of a challenge when El wasn't around and couldn't look over his shoulder and ask him what he was doing or give him a curious smile. But without El around, he wasn't feeling inspired.

In the end, he packed up and went to the office to work.

"Burke!" Hughes' voice filtered down from his office. "NYPD just got a tip on our suspect in the McAllister Wood case. You and Johnson go check it out, and you better get down there before he disappears again!"

Peter wanted to ask a few follow-up questions, but Carl had already grabbed his gun and car keys and jumped to his feet. "I'm driving!" he yelled, and Peter had no choice but to follow his lead.

Carl had a tendency to drive like a maniac and it only got worse under pressure, so Peter refrained from saying anything as to not distract him any further.

When they came to a screeching halt and Peter looked out the passenger window to find himself just outside Yankee Stadium, he knew why something hadn't sat right with him from the start. "What's this?" he asked.

"What's it look like?" Carl answered with a grin and got out of the car. "We're going to the ballpark."

A car pulled up behind them and Marcus and Hughes exited, looking relaxed and not at all as if they intended to storm Yankee Stadium.

"I take it there's been no sighting of our suspect then?" Peter surmised.

Hughes of all people patted him on the back. "Relax, Peter. The Bureau can spare us for one day."

"They got you to be a part of this, too?" Peter had to admit that surprised him a little.

Hughes shrugged. "You really seemed a little miserable, Peter, and that's not a good look on a soon to be married man."

"Yeah, there's enough time for misery when you're actually married," Carl joked before he realized that he was surrounded by married men or those soon to be. He just laughed it off. "Come on, let's go now."

They headed inside, and once Peter had gotten over the strangeness of leaving work early and just dropping everything like this, he could lean back and enjoy the game. He hadn't been in the stadium for a while, usually content with watching it on TV. But he had to admit that sitting here with his friends and colleagues was fun and a great way to let go of everything else that was on his mind.

Until the kiss cam kept circling back to a specific couple, and Peter had a feeling he knew what was coming. And he was right. After the third time, the guy dropped to one knee and proposed. She accepted, and the stadium erupted in applause.

"Must be a sign," Marcus winked at Peter.

"Yeah, that's what I call an awesome proposal," Carl cheered and clapped for the happy couple.

Peter snorted. "Elizabeth would have hated that one."

Marcus and Hughes nodded.

"What? What's wrong with it?" Carl asked.

"Too public," Hughes said.

"Too much cheap beer and hot dogs," Marcus added.

Carl shook his head. "Okay, I'm never getting married. No offense, man."

"None taken," Peter assured him. It was funny how he had once been like Carl, not so exuberant, perhaps, but focused on his own goals and confident in his own opinions. Now, he was already looking forward to telling El about the game and this little spectacle they had just witnessed.

After the game they went to a small bar where Marcus and Carl got a little drunk and dangerously flirty (dangerous in Marcus' case as a married man). Peter and Hughes remained seated at their table and decided not to get involved.

"So, are you ready for this?" Hughes asked.

"I am," Peter nodded and sighed when his boss didn't look convinced. "What?"

Hughes slowly sipped his beer. "I think you have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know everyone says that marriage is a lot of work, but it's never been like that for El and me," Peter said. He realized that they had never been married before, but he felt very strongly that no vows or certificate would change the core of their relationship.

"I hope you're right. Listen, Peter, I wish you two all the best, but wives, they expect you to do things and not to do certain other things. I just want you to stay on track."

Peter furrowed his brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I might be in consideration for the ASAC job. It's not going to happen tomorrow or next week. It'll probably still take a while. But if and when it happens, somebody needs to move into my office, and I think that should be you, Peter."

"Wow, first of, congratulations! ASAC, that's big," Peter said, raising his glass to Hughes who accepted the gesture demurely. "And thanks, I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't thought about that before."

Hughes nodded. "I'm ready to make a push for you when the time comes. But I need you to keep up the good work and keep your eyes on the ball, so the higher-ups will be convinced."

"You mean, keep my eyes on the ball rather than my wife?" Peter asked, frowning. "Elizabeth would never try to hold me back. She'd probably be the first one to sign me up for this. Though we have been talking about possibly starting a family."

Hughes didn't seem surprised. "Well, the longer you stay with the Bureau and the higher you go, the more options you have when it comes to allocating your time and resources. Just don't let them put you behind a big desk too soon. You're a great field agent."

Yes, Peter loved being in the field, and he wanted to stay there even if it meant a little less pay. But El didn't care about the money either, she cared about him. The safety of a desk job would probably appeal to her but not at the expense of his happiness.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. And as long as El supports me in this, as long as this works out for both of us, I'll be glad to accept. But right now, all I can focus on is my wedding."

"Of course. And for what it's worth, I think you are one lucky guy, Peter," Hughes replied, this time raising his glass to him.

And Peter could only agree wholeheartedly.

Since Carl and Marcus had had a little too much to drink, Peter drove both of them home while Hughes left on his own. After having dropped off Marcus, Peter stopped the car outside Carl's place and turned off the engine.

It had become clear to him that this had all been Carl's idea, so Peter felt he needed to say something. "So," he began slowly, drawing out the word, "I've been meaning to ask you if you'd be my best man at the wedding?"

Carl gave him the side-eye. "Is this like a pity invite? Your wedding is in two weeks!"

"No, I hadn't asked anyone yet because I was trying to avoid something like what happened today, or a version of it. Today was actually very nice," Peter admitted. But he had never liked the idea of a more traditional bachelor party, and he had worried that asking Carl to be his best man would lead to exactly that. And yes, he had considered asking his dad or Phillip Kramer, but since El's sister would be the maid of honor, he had finally decided that one of his younger friends would be a better fit.

"Man, you forget that I was there when you first fell in love with Elizabeth," Carl reminded him. "I know better than to try and put a stripper in front of you!"

"Right, and thank you for that," Peter said emphatically. He didn't want to imagine how that phone call with El would have gone if she had asked him how his night had been. "So?"

Carl grinned at him. "Sure, I'll be your best man. I feel like I have a stake in this, too. After all, it was my yellow tie that brought you two together."

"I wouldn't exactly say that..."

"Come on, she liked that tie!" Carl insisted.

Peter sighed. "Yes, she did."

"You know that's going in the speech," Carl promised him with a wink.

"Looking forward to it already," Peter replied before kicking him out of the car.

* * *

"I think you've had more than enough, young lady!"

Elizabeth was lying on her big, super comfortable hotel bed and suppressed her laughter by pressing her face into the soft pillows. Watching her mom try to once again be a mom and get her slightly inebriated sister to go to bed was hilarious. It was something in between a game of tag and a wrestling match. But, eventually, her mom emerged victorious.

When Maddie was snoring peacefully, Tina joined her younger daughter on the bed.

"So, are you ready for this?" she asked. There was no need to explain what she meant.

"I am," Elizabeth nodded and sighed when her mother only gave her a patronizing smile. "What?"

"Let me rephrase that so you can actually give me an informed answer. Are you nervous?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "A little. But it's not like everything's going to change overnight."

"Oh yes, honey, it will."

"Why?" Elizabeth wondered. "Peter and I will still be the same two people we were before."

"Yes, but once you've said 'I do,' you can't bail out anymore," her mother said matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "I don't want to bail out, and neither does Peter."

Her mom rested a hand on her knee. "Of course not. I'm just saying, it will feel different. You'll see."

"Good different, I hope," Elizabeth said, biting her lip.

"You'll feel a lot closer," her mother nodded. "But it might not always be as exciting and passionate as it is now, if you get what I'm saying."

Elizabeth made a face. "I'm not sure I want to talk about that."

Her mother just pushed ahead. "Right now, you're still young and in love, and I'm sure you're very active, but eventually, you'll get older, and you may have to remind yourself every now and then what it is you love about one another."

"I will never forget why I fell in love with Peter," Elizabeth promised her mother. She didn't want to sound like a petulant child who refused to believe that the grown-ups knew better. But in this case, they really did not know better. She knew her heart, and she knew Peter, which was almost one and the same these days.

"All right, tell me again. Then I can remind you, too. Just in case." Her mother patted her hand and smiled.

Elizabeth took a breath. "Well, he's a good man. He's brave and kind and very funny. He loves his job, and he cares about other people. He never complains. Okay, he complains plenty about the weather or traffic or stuff like that but never about anything important. When something isn't going well with one of his cases, he puts his head down and figures out another way. When he's worked a long day and he is really tired, but I forgot to pick something up for dinner, he tells me to stay put and runs out to the store for me.

He hates dressing up for black-tie events on his days off from work, but when there's an exhibit opening at the gallery, he's always there in a nice suit, because he wants to support me. He's the first one to admit that he's not always terribly romantic, but he constantly surprises me with little things, bringing me a book that I've mentioned in passing that I really want to read, or taking the subway and letting me use the car when I have an early-morning meeting all the way across town.

And he looks at me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world. I know I'm not, and I don't care. But the way he looks at me, it's like he wants to make sure that I could never ever forget how much he loves me."

She paused when she saw that her mother's eyes were brimming with tears. "Oh, my darling, I'm so happy for you," Tina said and pulled her in for a hug.

Elizabeth tried very hard not to cry when she hugged her back. She needed to practice that for the wedding. "Thanks, Mom." When she let go again, she glanced at the phone. "Mom, would you mind...?"

"No, of course not! Be in love and be happy. I'll be in the bathroom." Tina got up from the bed and left the room while Elizabeth dialed.

" _Hey, honey,"_ Peter answered the phone on the third ring.

Elizabeth sat up in surprise. "How did you know it was me?"

" _I recognized the area code,"_ he replied, and she could easily picture that cute smile on his face that was just a little bit smug.

"Of course, I didn't wake you then?"

" _No, I just came in. Everything okay?"_ Peter asked, perhaps picking up on what was left in her voice of her teary hug with her mom.

His concern for her made her smile. "I'm good. I just miss you."

She could hear him relax on the other end. _"I miss you, too, honey."_

"So how was work?" Elizabeth asked, leaning back into the pillows.

" _I wasn't actually at work. Carl, Marcus, and Hughes took me to Yankee Stadium to watch a game."_

"Oh, like a bachelor party? How nice! Did you have fun? Did the Yankees win?"

Peter laughed about her enthusiasm, but Elizabeth had learned that the last one was always the most important question. _"They did. It was a good game. We even got to see a proposal."_

"You did?"

" _Yup, on the kiss cam."_

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought of all of Yankee Stadium watching her while she made one of the most important decisions of her life. "That's cute."

" _I told the guys you would have hated it,"_ Peter said, not fooled by her tone one bit.

"Well, I suppose if they are both really big Yankees fans, it's not so bad. I hope they will be very happy together," Elizabeth replied.

Again, she could hear the smile in Peter's voice. _"I know you do."_

"What else did you do today?"

" _We went to a bar afterwards – a perfectly normal one."_

"Do you mean normal as in no private lap dances?" Elizabeth asked.

" _Right, no dancing, looking, or touching of any kind,"_ Peter replied.

Elizabeth laughed. "Honey, this was your bachelor party. You could have done all the dancing and looking you wanted." She couldn't quite bring herself to include the 'touching.'

" _But I didn't want to,"_ Peter said, making Elizabeth smile again.

"I know you didn't."

Peter seemed eager to change the subject. _"How was your day? What did you do?"_

"Oh, we had this wonderful full-body massage," Elizabeth told him and stretched a little. Her muscles still felt loose and relaxed.

" _Sounds like there was a lot of touching going on on your end,"_ Peter remarked.

Elizabeth chuckled. "Yes, but don't worry. No one saw the parts that only you get to see."

" _Mhm, which parts are those?"_

The bathroom door opened and Elizabeth sank deeper into her pillows. "Honey, Mom just came back into the room," she said quietly.

Peter made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough. _"Right, well, say hello for me, and you have a good night, honey."_

"Just one more thing," Elizabeth whispered before he could hang up. "Are you ready?"

There wasn't even long enough of a pause for a full heartbeat. _"Yes."_

* * *

 **A/N: Just gearing up for the wedding here, guys, so stay tuned.**


	18. Mr and Mrs Burke

**A/N: Hope you're ready for this because it's a big one. I would have loved to sneak Neal into this, but I didn't feel like I could get away with that and still be canon. I hope you'll enjoy it anyway, and if you want to make me smile, feel free to leave me a review.**

* * *

Waking up in the morning on the day before his wedding felt like the proverbial calm before the storm. El was already up, and Peter could hear her talking on the phone in the kitchen – as she had done seemingly without pause for the past few days. At this rate, she would need a honeymoon not to celebrate their wedding but to recover from planning the wedding. Thankfully, they were now on the home stretch. Whoever had said that anticipation was half the fun had not been talking about weddings.

Peter got out of bed, taking a moment to contemplate that the next time they would sleep in it, they would do so as husband and wife. Then the increasing urgency in El's voice reminded him that there was no time for such philosophical meanderings. Weddings, he had quickly learned, had tighter schedules than FBI sting operations.

Fully dressed, he finally entered the kitchen. "Good morning, honey," he said, leaning in for their usual good-morning kiss, but El just waved him off. She looked as far removed from a happy bride as Peter could possibly imagine. "Not a good morning?" he asked.

"Not if you were hoping to eat chicken at our wedding," El replied.

"What?"

"There was a power outage last night and now almost all of the chicken is ruined, and the caterer doesn't know if they can get more chicken breasts until tomorrow. Meanwhile, the florist already delivered all the flowers to the inn this morning because they wrote down the wrong date. They can't decorate anything outside yet because there's supposed to be heavy rain tonight and perhaps tomorrow as well. We have tents, should we need them, but no heaters, and now I have no idea what we're going to do if people get wet and cold."

El paused to take a breath, but it had no calming effect whatsoever. Peter gave it another try and pulled her into a tight embrace, overcoming her resistance with a gentle but determined tug. "If there's not enough chicken, people can eat fish. The flowers are not going to die in one night, and if it rains tonight, there won't be any rain tomorrow. But if people do get cold, they can just go inside. That's why we're getting married at an inn, right?"

For a brief, wonderful moment he could feel El relax in his arms, then her head suddenly snapped back up. "Oh God, the minister!"

"What about him?" Peter asked.

"We were supposed to call him a week before the wedding to confirm that nothing had changed about the date, place, and time of the ceremony. I never called him. Why didn't I call him?"

El was on the verge of a real panic, so Peter quickly grabbed her arms. "Honey, I called him."

"You did?"

Peter couldn't help but laugh about the look on her face. "Yes, honey, I'm no wedding planner, but I'm a Quantico-trained FBI agent, and I do know the most basic requirements for getting married, namely to have a bride, a groom, and someone to officiate the wedding. Also, you put a Post-it note with his number on my coffee cup that morning."

To his pleasant surprise, El began to laugh as well. "Of course, I remember. I'm sorry, honey. That is why a bride should never plan her own wedding."

Glad to see her usual spark return to her eyes, Peter tried to finally steal that kiss. Only El brushed right past him. "But I can do this. There's still time before Mom and Dad will be here to drive up to the inn with me, and this is New York. Somewhere in this city I can find more chicken and heaters."

Peter shook his head and let her go. There wasn't much he could do because he still had to go to work today. But the entire office seemed to be looking out for him, and they all made sure that he didn't get wrapped up in a new case or anything else that could have stopped him from leaving at precisely five p.m.

The day passed in one giant blur anyway. El called him a couple of times, providing him with updates on the chicken situation and asking how much room he still had in the car to bring stuff. For a moment there, Peter pictured himself driving up to the Hamptons with several boxes of chicken breast in the backseat, but eventually, El found a vendor closer to the Seaside Inn. The heaters, however, would have to hitch a ride with him – after he had picked them up halfway across town – because El and her parents had already gone up to the Hamptons.

When he was stuck in traffic, still in the city, not yet on his way to the inn, Peter wondered briefly why he had to spend so much time on heaters for a wedding reception that could move indoors at any time. But if the only way for his wife-to-be to get some sleep tonight was the comfort of knowing that they had heaters in case they needed them, then Peter was getting her those damn things.

In any case, he was glad that he had decided to drive up to the Hamptons tonight after work rather than tomorrow morning. He just knew there would have been a traffic jam or an accident and he would have ended up being late to this own wedding.

Back at home from the heater odyssey, Peter checked the list El had given him as well as his own (tux, ring, surprise for El) to make sure he packed everything and put it in the car. Then he checked the list again. And again. And then he left for his wedding.

He arrived at the Seaside Inn late in the evening, but with lots of time to spare before the actual ceremony tomorrow, so that catastrophe, at least, they had successfully averted. Alan came out to meet him at the car and helped him carry everything inside – which was a first. But for once, they seemed to be exactly on the same page, namely to do whatever was in their power to make sure El stopped worrying and started enjoying this.

"How's she doing?" Peter asked.

"She's soldiering on," Alan replied.

Peter frowned. "I wasn't aware we were at war."

"Then you haven't seen the schedule yet."

Peter didn't have time to figure out if he was joking because Tina had been waiting for them at the door and hugged him fiercely. "Don't listen to him, Peter. Everything's fine, and so is Elizabeth. Sally convinced her to go upstairs and take a bath. She's a miracle worker, that one."

As if on cue, Sally came to greet him as well. "Nice to see you again, Peter. Now that we have the bride and the groom, everything else is just logistics."

"Is there anything that still needs to get done tonight?" Peter asked.

"Oh no, grooms need their beauty sleep just as much as brides do. So here's your key. I don't want to see you again until breakfast," Sally told him.

Peter decided not to question that and simply grabbed his bags while Alan again helped him carry the rest.

"Oh, and Peter? Door is unlocked," Sally called after him with a wink.

He wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him until he was alone in his room and spotted a door that didn't lead out into the hallway or to the bathroom. It had to be a door that connected this room with the one next to it. A grin spread across Peter's face, and he couldn't resist opening it just a little bit. He recognized the room before him right away. It was the one he and El had stayed in back in February, and it essentially still looked the same. He also spotted a few of her things but nothing that looked like a wedding dress or anything else he wasn't supposed to see, so Peter deemed it safe and slipped inside.

The door to the bathroom was open, and he could see El who was standing in front of the mirror in a bathrobe, combing her hair. When she heard him close the connecting door behind him, she turned around and spotted him.

"Don't worry, honey. Just came to say good night," Peter said quickly.

El lowered her hairbrush with a smile. "Hey, honey. How was the drive up here?"

Peter shrugged. "I made it. That's all that matters."

"I'm sorry I made you pick up those heaters," El said, guessing correctly that that excursion had taken up a lot of his time. "None of the magazines or books warned me about all the 'anything that can go wrong will go wrong' scenarios that suddenly pop into your head the day before the wedding."

"It's fine, honey. Better safe than sorry, right?" He walked over to the bed and sat down.

El shot him a look. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Just sitting here," Peter replied with a lopsided grin.

"Uh-huh."

"Come on, honey. I just wanted to check on you. I have a right to half of those scenarios you're worrying about."

El laughed. "Not just yet."

"Only a few more hours," Peter pointed out.

"Only a few more hours," El repeated, a little bit in awe.

"So?" Peter pushed.

"So what?"

"What are you still worried about?"

"Nothing. And everything." El sighed and finally walked over to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. "But it's definitely better now that you're here."

Peter tried and failed not to breathe her in. She smelled heavenly. "I don't have to go anywhere, El."

"Yes, you do. It'll be midnight soon."

"What happens then? Anyone turn back into a pumpkin?"

"Then it'll officially be our wedding day, and you're not supposed to see me before the ceremony," El said, nudging him slightly.

Peter took her hand and held on to it. "All right, but only if you promise me not to worry anymore."

El smiled sweetly. "I'll try."

That wasn't good enough for Peter. "Are you afraid I might say no?" he asked with a light chuckle.

"Of course not."

"Are you afraid you might say no?"

El just rolled her eyes at him and shook her head, not bothering to answer that one.

"Then I think we'll be just fine," Peter said, squeezing her hand. "And I promise I will tackle anyone who tries to bother you with complains about chickens, the cold, or chairs."

El looked up. "What's wrong with the chairs?"

"Nothing! El, please, it was just an example…" Peter stopped when he saw that she was actually smiling.

"I was just kidding. You're right, honey. I'll let go," she promised. "Aren't you just a little bit nervous, though?"

Oh, Peter was nervous all right. Not because of anything that could go wrong with the schedule. Because he was about to make the single most important promise in his life. He couldn't wait, but he also felt the pressure of making sure he could keep it.

"A little," he admitted. "It's a tall order, being the husband you deserve."

El laughed softly. "Now that is something I've never been worried about." She cupped his face in her hands and her voice was thick with emotion. "I love you."

Peter smiled and leaned into her touch. "I love you," he said, realizing that this, too, was a promise.

A promise that needed to be sealed with a kiss, especially since he hadn't gotten one all day. El's lips were warm and welcoming. Only when one of his hands moved to her hair while the other bunched up the thin fabric of her bathrobe at her hip, did she pull away.

"Honey," she warned him gently.

Peter sighed and let go of her. "Good night, Mrs. Burke."

"Good night, future husband."

Her brilliant smile was the last thing he saw before he closed the door between their rooms and the only thing he tried to think about before he fell asleep on the eve of his wedding.

* * *

When Peter woke up on the day he would hopefully never ever forget (September 19, should be easy enough to remember, right?), the first thing he noticed was the clear sky outside. Smiling with relief, he opened a window. The morning air was still a little chilly and the grass looked damp from last night's rain, but there were no more rain clouds in sight and the sun would have ample time to heat everything up again. Funny how he had never been this invested in the weather before.

He closed the window and laughed when his eyes fell on the door that would lead him back to El's room. Sometime last night or earlier this morning she must have snuck inside his room to put a Post-it on it.

It said, "Don't even think about it."

Peter left the note and went to take a shower before he got dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. It was still way too early to put on his tux. The ceremony wasn't until this afternoon. He would never again make the mistake of questioning whether El really needed this long to get her hair done and put on a dress. But that left him with time to kill, so he headed downstairs.

He was met with a flurry of activity, preparations now fully underway and decorations going up everywhere. Since no one paid him any mind, Peter made his way into the dining room. The only familiar face was Alan, who sat alone at a table, sipping a cup of tea. Since it would have been strange not to, Peter joined him.

"Good morning, Alan. Where's Tina?"

"She's at the hairdresser's with the girls," his soon-to-be father-in-law answered.

Peter thanked the waitress who brought him fresh coffee before he asked, "Ah, Maddie's here already? Then where's Andrew?"

"Not here, apparently," Alan replied calmly.

"That doesn't sound good," Peter said.

"Perhaps, but surely, it shouldn't be any of your concern today."

"No, but that won't stop El from making it hers."

Alan lowered his teacup. "And you're worried about her?"

"It just seems to take a lot of work to actually make this the happiest day of our lives," Peter admitted.

"Give it time. You'll feel differently when all this waiting is done," Alan told him kindly.

If Peter had known that being a groom would get him such special treatment, even from Alan Mitchell, he would have proposed a long time ago. Before he could voice any of that, he spotted the person he had been waiting for.

"Sally!" he called out to stop her with a bunch of flowers in her arms. "The place looks great. What can I do to help?"

The hotel manager just smiled at him. "Peter, you're the groom. You're not supposed to do anything except think about how your life is about to change. Oh, and be on time for the ceremony." She winked at him and was gone before he could protest.

Alan also gave him a rare smile. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Peter wasn't very hungry, and it looked like he had a lot of free time on his hands, so he agreed.

They went down to the beach and enjoyed the quiet sea and relatively calm winds. It really looked to be a great day. Perhaps Alan was right. Perhaps everything would work itself out on its own.

"You've picked a beautiful place," Alan said.

"It was Elizabeth, really," Peter replied. He could have never pictured anything this grand.

"She told us that you brought her up here and that it was your idea to accept the offer of the man who owns this place."

Peter shrugged. "Because I could tell how much she loved it here and that she had all of this already mapped out in her head. All I could see was how beautiful it was. El's vision turned it into a wedding. Hopefully, the one she really wanted."

Alan walked next to him in contemplative silence, which was nothing unusual of course, but then he said, "This is probably rather inconsequential since nothing could stop my daughter from marrying you at this point, but I really do believe that you will make her happy, Peter."

The first part of that sentence had scared the hell out of him, but now Peter smiled in relief. "Thank you, Alan. That means a lot." And since he was feeling brave and figured that, come tomorrow, they would never have another conversation as pleasant as this one, he asked, "Any other advice?"

"Listen to each other. Most people who are unhappy in a relationship that is and always was otherwise devoid of conflict feel like their partner isn't hearing them."

That was exactly the kind of answer Peter had expected from a psychiatrist. Nevertheless, it rang true. "So, listen and then compromise?" he asked.

"That's what people like to say. Marriage is compromise. And it can be. But in all honesty, she will always be right."

That also wasn't surprising, coming from a man who doted on his daughters, but Peter had a feeling that, once again, it was also the truth.

"Understood," he laughed.

* * *

Elizabeth felt a little ridiculous as she watched her sister, with her hair all done but still wearing slacks, sneak up and down the stairs and check every hallway of the inn to make sure Peter wasn't around to spot them during their return from the hairdresser.

"Coast is clear!" Maddie whisper-yelled down the stairs, waving for Elizabeth and their mom to follow her.

Once they were back inside Elizabeth's room, Maddie grabbed a chair, put it right in front of the door leading to Peter's room, and then sat on it.

"You do know you're overdoing it, right? Peter's not going to come in here now," Elizabeth told her.

Her sister shrugged. "Can't be too careful. Maybe I should talk to his best man, just to be safe. Who's he again?"

"His name is Carl." The guests had begun to arrive, but so far, Elizabeth hadn't seen him. "I don't think he's here yet. I hope he's going to make it."

"Why wouldn't he?" her mom asked while she got out the wedding dress and started smoothing out wrinkles that weren't there.

"He works with Peter in White Collar, and sometimes it feels as if the only thing they really learned in Quantico is how not to be on time for anything that's not work-related," Elizabeth replied. She was actually really glad Peter had snuck in here last night. That way she at least knew for a fact that he was already here.

"Isn't there the case of the missing chicken that they could solve in the meantime?" Maddie laughed.

"Oh, hush, Maddie!" their mom silenced her. "I'm sure Andrew would stand in as Peter's best man if his friend really can't make it. Where is he, anyway? You were very vague this morning."

Maddie stopped laughing and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not his keeper."

"But why come separately at all?" Tina kept pushing.

"Should I have brought him to the hairdresser with us?" Maddie pushed back.

"No, but he could have kept Peter company, or your dad..."

Maddie rolled her eyes, but Elizabeth got a bad feeling when she saw the haunted look her sister had been hiding all morning underneath her usual sass. Elizabeth had all sorts of feelings right now, and they tried to pull her in a lot of different directions, so she was grateful to have found one to focus on.

"Come on, Maddie. What's going on?" she asked.

"Nothing. I'm just sitting here guarding this door."

Elizabeth walked over to her and crouched in front of her chair. "It's clearly not nothing."

"Yes, it is, because you're the bride and I won't let anyone hijack your moment, least of all me." Maddie refused to look at her, but she was fighting tears now.

"Right now, all I am is a woman with a head full of fancy hair who's worried about her sister. So, out with it," Elizabeth nudged her softly. "What's going on with Andrew?"

Her sister slumped. "We broke up," she confessed.

Which caused even their mother to stop fussing over the wedding dress. "Oh no! I'm so sorry, sweetie. What happened?"

"He got a job offer from a fancy private school in Pittsburgh. He didn't actually apply for it; it was a I-know-a-guy-who-knows-a-guy kind of thing. But now he wants to take it. Of course, he does. It's less students per class, better resources, and more pay, and he'd be back in his home town."

"Pittsburgh isn't the end of the world, though. Couldn't you try to make it work?" Elizabeth suggested, trying to find a silver lining. She had really liked Andrew. She would never forget that Christmas they had spent in the hospital together.

"Maybe, but I thought if we were to take a next step, it would bring us closer together not further apart," Maddie explained. "I mean, what's the point?"

Her words were harsh, but Elizabeth understood what her sister was saying. Still, today of all days, she didn't want to hear of happy endings that suddenly were no longer to be. "Well, if you love him, the point is not to lose him."

"What would you do if Peter suddenly got a better job somewhere else?" Maddie challenged her.

Elizabeth tried to really think about that, though there was no way for her decision not to be influenced by the fact that she was about to get married in less than two hours. "I would probably go with him."

"Just like that? But you love New York and you have your job and everything..."

"But what would I really have if I didn't have him?" Elizabeth said simply.

Maddie stared at her for a long time before leaning back in her chair. "Wow, you really love him."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Well, it is my wedding day, so I'll go ahead and say yes."

"How did you get such a perfect love story?" Maddie asked, torn between sadness and marvel.

"It's not perfect," El said, though she couldn't come up with a single complaint right now.

"Okay, so he works on a government salary, his friends are never on time, and he gets shot at every now and then. Minor details."

"Maddie!" Tina scolded her.

But the fact that Maddie was finding her way back to her snarky comments and a better mood made Elizabeth laugh. "Thanks for reminding me."

"He also loves you like crazy and would do anything for you," Maddie added less flippantly.

"I know." Elizabeth smiled. "And I always thought the same was true of Andrew."

Maddie sighed, then she shrugged and worked up a grin. "Okay, but he's not here now. Peter is. And we better make sure that you're not the one who's late for this wedding because that would be embarrassing."

"Maddie's right. And to get back into the spirit of things, your father and I wanted to give you this," Tina said and handed Elizabeth a large, square jewelry box.

"Mom, you didn't have to..." Elizabeth was a little afraid of what her parents might have done.

Maddie stood and rested her chin on Elizabeth's shoulder, clearly not at all curious. "You haven't even opened it yet!"

"Your sister is right. Go on, open it!" her mom encouraged her.

The box revealed a delicate princess necklace made up of a thin silver web adorned with several small blue diamonds. "The necklace is mine, so it's fairly old, but your father and I had it polished and added the diamonds, so obviously they are new, and now I'm borrowing it to you so you have something blue," Tina explained while Elizabeth admired the necklace.

"I know you and Peter won't need traditions like that to be happy, because he's a wonderful man and he will take good care of you. But you can never have too much love or too much luck, so your dad and I, we wanted to do our part in making sure our baby girl has everything."

Elizabeth was at a loss for words, so Maddie spoke up for her.

"Aww, Mom, you're going to make Lizzie cry."

"Which is why I gave you this before you put your makeup on."

Even so, Elizabeth blinked away the tears furiously because if she started now, she didn't trust herself to stop. She wanted to thank her mother for getting her all the way here. She wanted to tell her sister that everything would be fine, that she would find love. She wanted to go out there and kiss her husband. And on top of all that, she wanted to check if the wedding cake had been delivered, if somebody had told the band where to set up, if the guests were finding the place okay... and a million other things she wasn't supposed to do right now.

Her only job was to get married.

It was time to put on that dress and be a bride.

* * *

Wearing a suit was nothing unusual for Peter, of course, but there was a big difference between the pretty regular suits he wore to the office and this tuxedo he had picked out. Standing in front of the giant mirror in his hotel room, Peter was still debating whether he looked like a really fancy waiter or James Bond.

Even before El had teased him about his ability to choose appropriate wedding attire, Peter had decided to play it safe and go with the classics – a black tuxedo with satin lapels, a black low-cut vest over a white shirt with a wing-tip collar, French cuffs and button studs, and a black bow-tie, which somehow always looked crooked. When Peter finally got it to look right and he checked his overall appearance in the mirror one last time, he decided to forget about the waiter and go with Bond.

Before he could lose his confidence, he quickly walked out of the room. He felt a little naked without his gun and badge, but at the same time, it was strangely liberating. As important as being an FBI agent was to him, today he was just a man about to marry the love of his life. The only thing he needed to carry in his pockets to do that was El's wedding band. He hadn't even brought the piece of paper with his vows on it. He knew them by heart. At least, he hoped he did.

His nerves flared up a little bit when Peter stepped outside and saw all those people waiting for, well, him. He suddenly realized that he never had so many eyes on him before. Graduation ceremonies came to mind, but those hadn't been solely for him. Thankfully, not all of the guests were looking at him just yet because there was still some time left until the ceremony was scheduled to begin. And really, there were more interesting things to look at.

The Seaside Inn and its surrounding property had always been beautiful, but fully decorated it was truly a sight to behold. The white chairs they had painstakingly selected had been set up in neat rows on the soft green grass, creating a long aisle that led up to the white gazebo. After a bit of back and forth El had decided that they would get married standing in the gazebo, since it was just too pretty not to use it. Even more so now that the elegantly crafted wooden framework had been decorated with colorful flowers and billowing white fabric.

The band had set up on a little stage on the giant patio that would serve as the dance floor. They were currently playing softly in the background to get warmed up and make the wait for the guests a little more entertaining. The big double doors leading from the patio back inside the hotel were open, allowing the guests access to the dining room with the open bar and the food that would be served later. Right now, most guests were either already choosing a seat for the ceremony or milling around in the garden where a couple of round bar tables had been set up for putting down drinks or standing around to chat and watch the band and the dance floor.

Peter spotted his dad and quickly headed towards him before anyone else could chat him up. They shared a careful hug because his dad seemed a little intimated by the tux.

"Don't want to mess anything up before your fiancée gets to see what a good-looking guy she's about to marry," he said.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not the one people are going to look at between El and me," Peter laughed.

His dad shrugged. "I'd still like a nice picture of the two of you, which shouldn't be too difficult in this place. Glad you listened to me and went all out on this thing. Looks expensive, though."

"Don't you dare try to give me money now, Dad!"

"I'll give you money when I want to give you money, son, and there's nothing you can do about it. You already have gifts piling up in that backroom where that energetic young lady directed us to put everything."

Peter sighed and decided not to have this argument right now. "Good to know."

His dad relaxed. "Seriously, how are you doing, Peter?"

"I'm not sure what the right answer to that is right now, Dad," Peter admitted.

The FBI usually trained its agents for everything. But no one had trained him for this. It seemed like he shouldn't be nervous because there was nothing to fear – he wanted this and he had been waiting for this for a long time. But it also felt like hubris not to be nervous and at least a little bit scared – like he would be underestimating the magnitude and importance of this occasion.

"Any advice?"

His dad just gave him a smile and put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "No. Today is not about that. Today, life is good, son. Hopefully, the rest of your life with Elizabeth will be too, but all you can do right now is enjoy what you have today."

"You're right. Thanks, Dad," Peter nodded.

Having his father's support made the waiting a little easier until it was almost time for the ceremony.

Peter already stood at the foot of the gazebo when his best man finally jogged down the aisle towards him. When it came to radiating calm, Carl was no help at all.

"Sorry, had to run down a lead and... you don't care," Carl stopped himself from explaining any further while he took up position next to Peter. He was right. For once, Peter really wasn't interested in hearing about his case, any case.

"At least I had time to dress appropriately," Carl said, straightening his tie, which was – naturally – bright yellow.

"Good choice," Peter replied tersely. He had lost his patience for small talk – the little he'd had to begin with.

"Thanks, you too, Peter. Damn, you look fine! I would marry you myself if I were so inclined," Carl continued to joke.

Peter just shot him a look. "Don't take this the wrong way, but could you please shut up?"

"Right, of course, I forgot you were the 'suffer in silence' type."

"I'm not suffering!" Peter protested hastily. "Do I look like I'm suffering?"

Carl shrugged. "Little bit, yeah."

Peter tried to loosen up. El kept telling him that he tended to make a face when he was stressed. And standing here in the spotlight (so to speak) with almost everyone in their seats now and looking at him, waiting to see if the bride would show up or not, stressed him out. Okay, he knew El wasn't going to run off, and he wasn't really stressing about that, but he was... something.

Wondering why they had invited so many people. What had happened to the whole 'all they really needed was each other' idea? Peter was suddenly very fond of that one. He couldn't take in all those faces anyway. Sure, his dad and Cecile were right in the front row, followed by other more distant family members, then friends and colleagues from work, from playing hockey, from El's art classes, from dinner parties, from college, from baseball, and even a couple of their neighbors and a few more prominent clients of the DeArmitt Gallery. But if Peter was really honest with himself, he only ached to see one face right now.

Carl grinned. "Don't worry. I think it's time."

It looked like he was right. Sally and Tina stepped out on the patio, both now dressed for the wedding, accompanied by their minister. The minister and El's mom made their way over to them, the former taking his place right in the center of the gazebo, the latter claiming her seat in the front row. Both of them gave Peter kind and encouraging smiles and he tried to smile back but his attention was elsewhere.

Sally gave the band a sign and they switched from soft background noise to actually playing. It was jazzy and upbeat. This was all El's doing, of course, but in the last year and a half Peter had come to associate that kind of music with her so much that it actually helped him to relax. This was what El listened to when she was happy, which meant that everything was as it should be.

While the music swelled, Alan and Maddie walked towards them. Alan stopped while Maddie proceeded down the aisle in a deep red dress. Peter had heard once that bridesmaid dresses weren't supposed to be too pretty so they wouldn't take anything away from the bride. Clearly, neither El nor Maddie had paid that any mind.

"That's Elizabeth's sister? Is she single?" Carl whispered.

Even if Peter could have answered that question definitively, he wouldn't have. Because the music slowed and, per El's request, the band launched into an instrumental version of Louis Armstrong's 'What a Wonderful World.' Not your typical Bridal March, but typical El. And there she was, making her way across the soft green grass like a vision of ethereal beauty. All the guests rose to their feet when El reached her father and took his arm so he could lead her down the aisle.

Towards Peter.

He knew it was medically impossible for his heart to stop beating while he was still standing here, breathing, however barely, and yet, that's what it felt like. He had made his share of jokes about El's insistence to hide the dress and stay away from each other before the ceremony, but he couldn't argue with the effect it had on him. It was like seeing her for the first time all over again.

Part of her hair had been worked into an intricate braid on the top of her head while the rest framed her face in soft dark waves. A delicate blue-diamond necklace sparkled around her neck, which was on full display thanks to the strapless white gown she was wearing. It consisted of a snug white bodice, a diamond belt to accentuate her waist and a satin skirt that widened ever so slightly until it ended in a little bit of a train. Just as she had always done, she had chosen something simple, elevating it with her beauty into a breathtaking picture of elegance and grace.

There was no veil, no barrier of any kind between them when their eyes met across the length of the aisle and stayed on each other for the entire time. El's smile was so brilliant, even the diamonds she was wearing paled in comparison, and Peter could have lost himself in the blue of her eyes completely. It absolutely baffled him how he had ever been worried about this day not living up to the pressure of being a happy occasion.

He didn't know when he had started smiling, but he could feel that he was. He wasn't fully in control of any of his faculties.

He was in a state of joyful disbelief and perfect bliss.

* * *

Elizabeth had finally found a way to silence the butterflies in her stomach that had made her feel queasy all day.

It wasn't putting the finishing touches to her hair and makeup. Her mom and Maddie could tell her that she looked amazing until they were blue in the face. She believed them, but in this case, their voices weren't the ones that mattered.

It wasn't hearing the beautiful, soft melodies of one of her favorite songs swirl around her. It was a wonderful world and a wonderful day, and the music gave her the strength to walk with a purpose, without stumbling over her own feet.

It also wasn't taking her father's proffered arm, though she had dreamed of this moment ever since she had been a little girl. She didn't care how old she was or that she was an independent woman and proud of it, her daddy giving her away made her giddy with happiness.

But the butterflies didn't stop dancing until she finally laid eyes on Peter.

He looked so handsome in a perfectly elegant and classy black tuxedo, and Elizabeth had to hold on tighter to her father's arm. It was okay if she was a little weak, though, because she knew Peter would be strong for her – strong and proud and caring. Even before she had reached him, his steady eyes on her and his wide-open smile grounded her. He was her anchor, though the only storm she was in right now was of her own making – her love, affection, and devotion for this man running through her like a strong current.

When they had reached the end of the aisle, her dad gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "I love you, my little honeybee, and I will always love you, now and forever."

Elizabeth almost choked up right there and barely managed a, "Thank you, Daddy." So much for not crying at her own wedding.

Her father squeezed her hand and then stepped back to take his seat next to her mother, who wasn't even trying to hide that she was in tears already.

The sight of her mother's tears threatened to overwhelm Elizabeth, but then Peter closed the remaining distance between them and took her hand and all the warmth and safety came flooding back in.

"Hey, beautiful," he said softly, his voice leaving her with goosebumps. "Glad you could make it."

His joke allowed them both to laugh and feel a little lighter afterwards. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Elizabeth replied.

Together, they climbed the small steps to the gazebo, and Elizabeth took a deep breath when the minister smiled at them. He was kind enough to give them a moment to take it all in, now that they were standing here, at the beginning.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends, family, and loved ones of Elizabeth Mitchell and Peter Burke, welcome to this day of celebration! We have gathered here today to witness the union of Elizabeth and Peter. They have decided to embark on this great journey together and are blessed to have all of you here to support them."

Peter had a hard time looking at the minister rather than El, though he really liked the man. They both did, which was why they had agreed right away that he was the one to marry them after just one pleasant and very friendly conversation with him. He didn't seem to mind, though, that even while he was speaking to them, Peter and El were constantly drawn towards each other, like moons orbiting a planet.

"Marriage is more than just an exchanging of rings, certainly more than a combining of assets and even taking on a new name. It is a commitment to hold on to each other and to find happiness and peace by doing so. While I will legally bind you together today, you will be the ones to forge this true bond between you, a bond that will sustain you and be the foundation for the rest of your lives."

El's fingers wrapped around Peter's and he held on a little tighter. He was glad they had decided to skip the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' part. Mostly because Peter would have definitely not held his peace if anyone had stood up to disrupt the ceremony.

"Peter and Elizabeth have prepared their own vows. I would now like to invite the two of you to share them with us and, more importantly, with each other. Elizabeth, would you like to begin?"

She nodded. Mostly, she seemed relieved that she was finally allowed to turn and face him fully. Peter felt the same way. He was excited to hear what she was going to say, and he wanted to see the truth of it in the light in her eyes and in the way her lips curled up into a smile.

"I've been lucky," El began. "I've always had a family who loved me, people who supported me no matter what. When I left to live on my own, I wasn't sure if I would find that again. But then I met this handsome FBI agent who wore a funny tie and an earnest smile, and I lost the ground under my feet, I lost my fears, and my heart."

Peter could hear Carl's laughter when she mentioned the tie, but it was nothing more than a background noise. He was too wrapped up in El's words that she delivered with clarity and fearlessness, from her heart to his.

"I gained a new home, a new future, and a new family in you, Peter. In return, all I can give you is this promise to not only be your wife, but to be your friend, who will always listen, your lifelong companion, who will never judge or lose faith in you, and your partner, who will always and forever be on your side. Just like you have been on mine, which is how I know that, once again, I could not be more lucky or more loved."

El's eyes shone brightly while Peter desperately wanted to kiss her and tell her that he was the lucky one.

* * *

"And now you, Peter, what would you like to say to Elizabeth?"

Before he said anything, Peter gripped both of her hands gently but also more tightly than ever. When he began to speak, there was an emotional hitch in his voice that Elizabeth knew was proof of how deeply her words had affected him.

"The FBI teaches its agents three things. Be safe. Be brave. And be strong," Peter said and Elizabeth smiled because he was the embodiment of all those things, even now in his fancy tuxedo. "I thought if I did that and caught as many criminals as possible, I'd have everything I needed. And the bigger the case, the better."

There were a couple of laughs, probably from Peter's colleagues, who had experienced firsthand how Peter sometimes pursued his cases with an almost dogged determination. But Elizabeth couldn't look. She didn't want to look at anything but the slightly self-deprecating smile on Peter's face that acknowledged that his younger self hadn't known any better.

"But it turns out that a small theft at a small art gallery was the biggest catch I could ever make because I found you. Elizabeth, you turned my world upside down and taught me to find safety in a home with proper curtains, bravery in trust that goes both ways, and strength in a love without conditions."

Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip. She was not going to cry...

"El, I promise to be your shield, to lift you up, to listen, to make you laugh, to share your pain and hail your victories, to never not tell you how beautiful you are, and to always hold you in my arms and my heart."

She could feel it. She could feel her eyes brimming with tears because she simply couldn't hold all of it in. But Elizabeth fought them back. Her answer to Peter's love wouldn't be tears. It would be a smile.

* * *

"That was beautiful, Peter, Elizabeth. And now, before you all reduce us to tears, the rings, please."

Peter was still only looking at El, but out of the corner of his eye he saw how Maddie quickly took a few steps forward to hand her sister the ring.

"I love you," El said when she slipped the simple golden band on his finger. There was nothing else left to say.

Wearing a ring felt odd at first, but also like he finally had proof to show to the rest of the world how lucky he was.

Peter reached inside his pocket. "I love you," he echoed her words while he put a ring on her finger for the second and last time.

The engagement ring with its three-diamond setting had worked so well for them that for the wedding band Peter had chosen a ring that consisted of a triple diamond band. Admittedly, the ring wasn't simple. This ring was bold and beautiful and virtually indestructible. And that made it the perfect symbol of their love.

El stared at it for a moment, then she lifted her eyes back to his, and even though she was shaking her head a little, they were sparkling happily.

"Well then, by the authority vested in me by the state of New York I now pronounce you husband and wife. Peter, you may kiss the bride."

Cheers and applause erupted behind them, but Peter couldn't have cared less when he finally took his wife – what a strange joy those two words gave him – into his arms and kissed her. He was gentle at first, mindful of the dress and the hair and all their many guests, but El wrapped her arms around his neck and almost knocked him right over. So Peter held on more firmly and made sure their first kiss as husband and wife was a memorable one.

Then they made their way back down the aisle, together this time, and gave their guests a chance to shower them with rice and flower pedals. Peter tried to protect El as best as he could – not that any of it was dangerous, but it was the principal of the matter.

Next, the photographer was there and insisted on doing the official bride and groom photos right away before they lost the light. Usually, Peter wasn't very good with photos, especially when he knew that someone was taking them and he was supposed to look into the camera in a meaningful way. But this time, it was easy. He just had to stand where the photographer told him to stand and embrace El, hold her hand, or kiss her, all the while looking at her like he was madly in love, which he did by default.

"Have I told you yet how incredibly beautiful you are?" he whispered into her ear every now and then, and El laughed or kissed him, and the camera flashed.

The whole photo session gave them a short reprieve, a chance to be (almost) alone, before they had to return to the festivities. Obviously, everyone was here for them and to celebrate with them, but the number of hugs and kisses and congratulations was a bit overwhelming.

"You guys almost make me want to get married," Carl said after hugging them both.

"Thanks. I like your tie," El replied, effortlessly keeping the same open smile on her face while they accepted all these endless good wishes.

Carl grinned right back. "I knew you would. And you could thank me by introducing me to your sister."

"Uh..."

"I think you should move along, Agent Johnson," a gravelly voice said, rescuing El from the need to answer. It was Phillip Kramer, who swiftly took Carl's place and pulled Peter into a heartfelt embrace. "Congratulations, Pete. It was a great ceremony. A real tearjerker. You almost got me, too."

El observed the two of them curiously. "Pete? I didn't know you had a nickname!"

"That's because no one else calls me that anymore," Peter replied quickly. "El, this is Phillip Kramer."

"Oh, your former mentor? It's very nice to meet you," El said, shaking his hand.

Phillip held her hand and leaned in a little. "Likewise. And may I say, you're way too beautiful for this guy."

"Careful now. You may have taught me everything I know, but that doesn't give you the right to flirt with my wife," Peter warned him good-naturedly. Really, it was just an excuse to say 'my wife' out loud.

"And just because you're not as green anymore as you once were, you don't get to tell me what I can and cannot do. But since today is your wedding, I'll allow it. Looks like I'm holding up the line, though. Catch up with you later, Pete?"

"Sure."

His old mentor moved on and El watched him go. "He seems... intense."

Peter nodded. "That's how I learned so much from him."

"Well, it's very nice of him to have come. He must really care about you."

"Apparently, so do a lot of people," Peter said because they were still not done trying to talk to everyone.

Mary and Marcus had both made it too, and they seemed a lot happier than at that dinner party, but Peter wasn't crazy enough to bring that up again.

Eventually, there was one face he hadn't expected, at least not anymore.

"Andrew?" El sounded pleasantly surprised, even while she tried to inconspicuously look for her sister. "I didn't think you would come."

"I sat in the back, just in case I wasn't welcome. But technically, I was invited, and the both of you have always been so kind to me. I wanted to come up here and tell you both congratulations. You deserve all the happiness in the world."

"Thank you," El said, giving him a careful hug. "And of course, you're welcome..."

"Andrew?!" Maddie didn't sound quite so pleasantly surprised when she approached them. "What are you doing here?"

He just shrugged. "Congratulating the happy couple like everyone else."

"Oh, you've got some nerve!"

"No, but I do have an invitation," Andrew replied, actually pulling it out of his jacket pocket.

Maddie ripped it out of his hand and tossed it. "As my plus one!"

"So?"

"So, we're not together anymore, so you can't be my plus one either," Maddie snapped.

"But I am a one, and I'd still like to be your one, so whether there's a plus before that or not is not only up to you. That's why I decided to come anyway," Andrew explained boldly.

Several people had begun to notice this little scene, and even someone as outspoken as Maddie seemed uncomfortable with that. "Come with me," she said, grabbed Andrew's hand, and pulled him away with her.

"I hope she doesn't tear him apart," El whispered, watching them disappear from view.

"Whose side are we on exactly?" Peter wondered.

El smiled at him. "Are we always on the same side now?"

"Isn't that what we just promised?"

"Yes, and that's why I'm on the side that allows my sister to find the same love that I have," El said and gave him a quick kiss. "Also, I don't want her to give an angry speech later."

That was definitely a scary thought, but there was no wedding without a little drama, Peter supposed.

* * *

When it was time for the food to be served, some of Elizabeth's nervousness returned momentarily. But thanks to the last-minute chicken delivery she had arranged yesterday, there was enough for everyone. If she was completely honest with herself, there probably would have been enough either way. Still, she didn't feel like eating until she was satisfied that no one seemed inclined to complain. Not that anyone would have brought their complains to her. Sally probably would have stopped them long before they could have even reached her table. She had really been a godsend.

And then there was Peter of course, who no doubt would make good on his own promise to keep any and all bad things away from her.

Except, perhaps, when it came to the speeches. When Carl stood and made sure that he had everyone's attention, Peter looked a little uncertain what to expect. His best man was a genuinely good guy, but he had a peculiar sense of humor sometimes.

"Hello, everyone, my name is Carl. I work with Peter. We solve cases together. I sit at the desk right across from him. I sometimes bring him coffee in the morning and lend him my ties when he spills it on his. Basically, I'm his work wife."

The room laughed while Peter sighed heavily.

Elizabeth rested her hand on his. "Are you regretting that you don't have your weapon on you?" she chuckled.

"Immensely," Peter replied.

Carl wasn't deterred. "So, naturally, I knew something was up right away when Peter returned from this supposedly routine, little theft investigation with so much... energy. I just couldn't figure out what it was until Elizabeth walked into the office one day. I mean, look at her, even a blind man could see that beauty."

This time it was Elizabeth who felt a little uncomfortable, and she tried to hide by burying her face in Peter's shoulder. He put his arm around her, but he didn't look like he disagreed with Carl's assessment.

"Still, I wasn't sure what I was dealing with. I knew Peter as one hell of an agent. Seriously, man, I want you to have my back out there any time, any day, and I swear I'll have yours, but you're a terrible wingman. The few times I could drag this guy out to a bar or something, he looked like he was in pain. So, Elizabeth, take it from me, you have nothing to fear on that front. But I digress..."

Peter nodded emphatically, but Elizabeth wouldn't have minded hearing the rest of that story.

"Anyway, I watched this whole thing play out from the sidelines. Suddenly, Peter actually went home at night. And he wasn't necessarily the first one back in the office in the mornings. He took lunch breaks. He didn't want to work Thanksgiving weekend and was interested in days off on weekends in general. Actually, that part is a little annoying. Elizabeth, you owe me a whole bunch of free Saturdays."

Carl looked at them, but Elizabeth wasn't intimidated. She just gave him a sweet smile and a shake of her head.

"Okay, fine. Don't get me wrong. Peter was still solving cases left and right. Somehow he even seemed better at it, now that he also had something else to live for. But most importantly, this fierce, serious partner of mine had suddenly learned to smile and that's when I knew that this was the real deal." Carl paused and picked up his glass. "Peter, Elizabeth, here's to you, and may you never stop smiling."

Everyone followed suit in raising their glasses to them while Peter and Elizabeth clinked glasses with each other and shared a kiss.

When the room had settled down again, it was Maddie who stood next. "Guess it's my turn then," she said. Andrew was sitting next to her since that's where Elizabeth had planned for him to sit, but there was no telling what was going on between the two. It looked as if they had declared a cease-fire – probably for her benefit.

"I'm Madeline. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Elizabeth's big sister. Her older, unmarried sister, I should add. That's a little embarrassing to admit. As a kid I always thought that being a big sister meant that I would get to do everything first. And it worked, too, for a while. I was the first one who got permission to go out on a date with a boy. I was the first one to get my license and drive myself wherever I wanted to go, ignoring my sister's pleas to take her with me, and I was the first one to move out and go to college."

Peter leaned in closer to whisper in Elizabeth's ear, "Is this the nice version or the angry version?"

"Yet to be determined," Elizabeth whispered back, feeling like she should brace for impact in any case.

"But then things kind of hit a snag," Maddie continued. "My baby sister moved to a big crazy city like New York and our parents were terrified that she might get mugged. Suddenly I was no longer the daughter anyone worried about. I was lucky to even get a phone call every now and then."

"That is not true!" Tina, who sat on Peter's right, said loud enough for everyone to hear and laugh.

Maddie only winked at her. "Next, my sister got a job at an art gallery, and for some reason people always dress nicely when they go to look at priceless art. So now, Lizzie wore fancy dresses all the time and I was the daughter who got scolded for looking like the cat had just dragged her in when we visited grandma."

There was more laughter in the room while Elizabeth heaved a sigh. "Definitely trending towards the dramatic. You should better stop her."

Peter snorted. "She's your sister."

"Oh, so your promise to protect me doesn't include her?" Elizabeth asked. "Funny, I must have missed that part."

"It was in the fine print," Peter said, kissing her cheek, before Maddie resumed her speech.

"And then, my sister met this guy. Honestly, I didn't think too much of it at first because Lizzie was clearly interested in him, but he didn't seem to get it. She literally had to draw him a sign. There's no denying it, Peter. I was on the phone with her when she did that."

Some guests laughed, others just looked surprised, like they had never heard that story before and could hardly believe it, including both of their fathers.

"I'm so sorry, honey," Elizabeth whispered, squeezing his knee under the table. "I told you, you should have stopped her."

Peter now looked like he wished that he had.

"But hey, clearly, it worked. Must have been one hell of a sign. Anyway, now we're here and my little sister is the first one to get married. But it's okay. I don't really want to live in a big city or wear fancy dresses. And more importantly, I have never before seen a love as adorable and pure and honest as yours. Peter, Lizzie, you inspire me. I wish you all the luck in the world, and dear baby sister, I forgive you for doing this first."

"To Peter and Elizabeth!" the room echoed Maddie's sentiment, but Elizabeth was too deeply moved to do or say anything.

Peter lifted a hand and wiped a couple of treacherous tears off her cheeks.

* * *

After dinner, the band started playing again and most guests had ventured back outside. The hotel staff had set up those heaters – since they had them, they could just as well use them – so even though it was dark by now, it wasn't too cold. It was beautiful, however, because hidden in the decorations were lots of little lights that came on now.

"No one is dancing yet. Should we change that?" Sally suggested after a while.

They gave her the go-ahead, and it didn't take long until one of El's college friends, who apparently was a good singer, joined the band with a microphone.

"Everyone, please welcome onto the dance floor for their very first dance as a married couple – Mr. and Mrs. Peter and Elizabeth Burke."

Peter took El's hand and led her onto the dance floor. "I don't think I will get used to hearing that any time soon," he said as he pulled her close.

"And here I thought I was the one who's changing her name," El replied sweetly.

"But I'm the one loving you for it."

El smiled and brought her lips to his. "Then let's never get used to it or take it for granted."

He kissed her while the band started playing and El's friend sang a beautiful version of 'At Last.' Peter started to lead them in something that was barely even a dance, but just like the song said, he pressed his cheek to El's, and they were in heaven.

There was more dancing after that first dance, they cut the wedding cake together, and shared more laughter and received more good wishes from their friends and family. It was a wonderful night, but eventually, Peter used a little moment when they found themselves miraculously alone to lead El away from all that.

She didn't say anything. She just smiled and followed him. They ended up at the beach where Peter paused at first, but El lifted the hem of her dress to take off her shoes and toss them aside. Then they made their way across the sand as far as they dared without risking to get their feet wet. That's where they stopped and Peter wrapped his arms around El from behind to keep her warm while they watched the peaceful coming and going of the waves in the darkness.

"Sometimes I still think this must have all been a dream," El said softly.

"If that's true, then it's now our dream to share till death do us part," Peter replied.

"Actually, we didn't say that part."

"Even better. Let's skip the dying then."

El chuckled. "I second that. Seriously, Peter, don't you dare. I'm your wife now and I'm not letting you go."

Peter rested his chin on her shoulder and held her a little tighter. "I'm not going anywhere, El. I've been trying to tell you that since our first date. I was hoping that once we were married, you would finally believe me."

"I believe you. And I love you," she replied, leaning her cheek against his. "I just need a moment to let it sink in that we now have forever."

"Take all the time you need. I love you, honey," Peter said and went back to simply holding her. Holding her forever.

But at some point, Peter could tell that even in the warmth of his embrace, El was getting cold. "I wonder how the odds are of us getting up into our room without anyone stopping us."

El lifted her head. "You want to go to bed?"

"Don't you?" Peter asked. It had been a lovely celebration, but the only person he wanted to see for the rest of the night was right here in his arms.

"I do, but I don't want everyone to know what we're doing. This is not the Middle Ages where people stayed to watch."

Peter laughed. "We could just go to bed to actually get some sleep, so we're able to get out of bed tomorrow morning."

El turned around in his arms and placed her hands on his chest. "I kind of thought we wouldn't. Sleep or get out of bed," she said, running her fingers up and down his lapels.

"As wonderful as that sounds, we need to catch our flight."

"What flight?" El asked, her fingers stilling when she looked up in surprise.

Peter couldn't help the huge smile on his face. "I talked to Hughes about getting more time off so I can take you on a proper honeymoon. We have a week."

"Really? You're not on call or…?"

"No, we're getting away from everything. I've got both of our bags packed."

Even in the darkness El's eyes shone brightly before she wrapped her arms around him to kiss him feverishly.

"Honey, you look so beautiful today, but I keep thinking that I'll ruin something," Peter protested a little when he couldn't figure out where to put his hands so he could kiss her back with appropriate enthusiasm.

"Well, Special Agent Burke, then you better find a way to get us back inside our room without anyone seeing us, so I can properly make love to my husband," El suggested sweetly. Her smile was almost enough to stop Peter from caring about who saw them or not.

He grinned at her. "I can do that. Especially if that's my wife's first wish."

"How many do I get?" El asked with a chuckle.

"As many as you want."

El shook her head and cupped his cheek. "I just need one, and that's already been granted."

And Peter didn't care if it was in fact a wish, fate, or just plain old coincidence that had gotten them here. He would take it all and he would fight like hell to keep it. He would fight every moment of every day.

For them.

For her.

For his wife.


	19. The Secret of Marriage

As usual, her mother had been right. Being married to Peter felt different than just living with him or even being engaged to him. Yes, they were essentially still the same two people who loved each other and fought to spend every moment together that their time-consuming jobs would allow. But they were also more than just Peter and Elizabeth.

They were the Burkes now. Any kind of invitation or mail was usually addressed to the both of them. They had a joint bank account, a joint health insurance plan, and they were each other's emergency medical contact and next of kin with all of the necessary authority to make decisions if necessary. On its own, none of that sounded terribly romantic. But put together, it meant that they were truly sharing a life now. Every decision one of them made automatically also affected the other, which was why they always made them together. There was only one future, one path, and they were walking it side by side, hand in hand.

Literally.

Elizabeth didn't know how long the honeymoon phase usually lasted, but she was very aware that, even with their first anniversary looming, she and Peter were still acting like insufferable newlyweds who were annoyingly, painfully obviously head over heels in love. Those were her sister's words, but they were imbued with love, so Elizabeth took them as a compliment. And she wasn't sorry for any of it either.

The only concession she was willing to make was to not flaunt their happiness in other people's faces. Elizabeth would never forget their wedding day, the excitement and grandeur and joy, but she no longer needed all that attention.

So when she and Peter were settled on the couch, his hands resting on her outstretched legs, and he asked her what she wanted to do for their anniversary, Elizabeth merely shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. We don't have to do anything special."

Peter raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"Well, I would love to spend the day with you, of course, but we don't have to make a big deal out of it. We don't need to go anywhere where there are lots of people. I would like it to be just us," Elizabeth explained.

"Just us, huh? I heard that one before," Peter teased, clearly referring to their early wedding plans.

Elizabeth sat up so she could cup his cheek. "I mean it this time. All I need for our anniversary is you."

"All right, that makes the gift giving a lot easier than I thought," Peter said, smiling.

"I already have your gift," Elizabeth replied, wiggling her ring finger, before she ended this conversation with a kiss.

A couple days later, Elizabeth was in the kitchen, trying to figure out for how much longer she could leave the lasagna in the oven. She had a feeling that Peter wasn't going to make it in time for dinner. He hadn't called to say that he wouldn't, but only because he hadn't called her all day, so Elizabeth wasn't quite sure what to make of that. She had just felt like making lasagna and she had decided to take her chances. She could always heat up the rest later.

The phone rang, and Elizabeth smiled to herself while she went to answer it. But it wasn't Peter on the other end.

" _Elizabeth, hi, this is Mary."_

"Oh, hello, Mary. How are you?" A few months ago, Marcus and Mary had invited Peter and Elizabeth to come over for dinner to make up for that slightly disastrous evening they'd had before the wedding. Elizabeth had been glad to see that the two of them seemed to have worked out their issues. But tonight, Mary sounded upset again.

" _Not great, actually. I was just calling to ask if Peter's home by any chance?"_

"No, I'm sorry, he's still at work," Elizabeth replied, a little surprised by her question.

" _Do you know where he is exactly or… how he is?"_ Mary wanted to know.

"No, why? Mary, what's going on?" Elizabeth asked with a sudden feeling of foreboding.

She could hear Mary sigh deeply, but she tried not to panic just yet. _"I'm worried about Marcus. Something big went down tonight. Some joined task force thing with the FBI and Interpol. Apparently, it was big and it was bad. They say that… an FBI agent was killed."_

Elizabeth quickly sat down on the couch before her knees could give out or she could drop the phone in shock. "How do you know that? Who's _they?"_ she managed to ask.

" _When you're married a little longer, you figure out how to get bits and pieces of information even if your husband can't or won't tell you. Also, there are these websites and chat rooms on the internet for people who get off on this kind of stuff. They share information whenever someone saw something go down somewhere in the city. I sometimes have a look when I'm really desperate, and they are damn sure about this one."_

Elizabeth felt sick to her stomach, thinking about such websites and the information they had supposedly uncovered. Still, it felt silly to believe these people. "But wouldn't the FBI had contacted you or... me if anything had happened?"

" _Unless they're trying to keep this quiet because the investigation is still ongoing and they think it will give them some kind of advantage not to let this go public just yet. Then they could even hold off on informing the families,"_ Mary argued.

"Okay, but even if there was some kind of FBI operation that went badly, FBI doesn't necessarily mean White Collar," Elizabeth tried to reach for a straw that would calm both of their nerves. "It's much more likely that this was Organized Crime or…"

" _I know, but Marcus came home a few days ago, complaining about how all Interpol agents are jerks who don't know how to play nice with others. He didn't say anything else or explain, but now I'm thinking it must mean that White Collar was involved. How many Interpol operations can there be in New York City in one week?"_

Rather than answer that, Elizabeth thought about Peter's behavior these past few days. He had been very focused, but that was nothing unusual. The only strange thing had happened three days ago.

Peter had come home late and Elizabeth had greeted him at the door because she had been tired and anxious to go to bed but reluctant to do so alone. He had taken off his jacket, revealing a scarf around his neck that Elizabeth had never seen before.

"What's this?" she had asked curiously.

"Um, nothing," Peter had replied way too fast. "Work thing. Forgot I still had that on."

Before he could turn away from her, Elizabeth had taken a step closer and sniffed the scarf. It had smelled of a woman's perfume, confirming a suspicion she'd had. "That's a woman's scarf, and it's not one of mine."

It had merely been an observation, and Elizabeth had been too surprised to even think about being upset. But Peter had begun to squirm right away. He might be a tough FBI agent out there, but in here he was a newlywed husband who caved instantly. "I was undercover at a party. I was supposed to distract this woman so Carl could get to our real target…"

"Distract her how exactly?" Elizabeth had wondered, eyebrows raised.

"I have no idea. I swear, I was so bad at it, El, I think she gave me this because she pitied me," Peter had said, his eyes pleading with her not to be mad and looking so adorable that Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, but I think I'll be taking this now, just to be safe," she had replied and removed the scarf from his neck to put it in her dresser before they had gone to bed.

Elizabeth hadn't thought twice about the whole thing, but now she went back into the bedroom and opened the right drawer. The scarf was gone, which meant that Peter had either taken it back as evidence or he had needed it for some other reason because this undercover thing, whatever case he was working on exactly, was still going on. It could have been anything but…

An FBI agent had been killed tonight.

The room suddenly started spinning and Elizabeth had to sit down again, this time on the bed, dimly aware of Mary's voice coming from the phone she was still clutching in her hand.

" _Elizabeth? Are you okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, but…"_

"It's okay. Mary, I'll try to call Peter. I'll let you know if I hear anything," Elizabeth promised her and hung up before then dialing Peter's number.

The FBI had finally equipped its agents with cell phones, so she tried that one first. When that didn't work, she called his desk phone. There was no answer on either one. That happened sometimes because Peter's work didn't always allow for him to pick up. But usually, he answered the phone anyway when he saw her caller ID, especially in the evenings when he knew she was wondering if he was coming home or not. Also, he liked to say that he would always make time to hear her voice.

Unfortunately, that only caused Elizabeth to worry more now. She knew that there was nothing she could do and that, rationally speaking, she should just stay in the apartment and wait. She had lived through nights like this before, but never actually knowing that something had gone wrong and that Peter could have been involved. Even though the information she had been given wasn't very reliable, it was impossible to ignore.

So Elizabeth turned off the oven, leaving the slightly burned lasagna in there, and hailed a cab to take her to the FBI headquarters.

Technically, there were no more unaccompanied visitors allowed inside this late in the evening. But Elizabeth wasn't just a visitor, she was an agent's wife now. And her new name got her through the door and into the elevator. She felt a twinge of guilt about checking up on Peter like this, but it was quickly overpowered by her need to make sure that he was okay.

The White Collar offices on the 21st floor were almost completely empty, which could mean that Mary had been wrong and most agents had simply gone home already or it could mean that she was right and everybody was busy somewhere else.

In any case, Peter's desk was empty as well. Elizabeth walked up to it anyway. She hadn't been back here since before their first date. Everything still looked the same, with the exception of a framed picture of the two of them on their honeymoon that now stood on Peter's desk. Elizabeth almost started to cry right there when she saw that.

"Elizabeth!?"

Her head snapped back up and she turned around, heaving a sigh of relief when she saw Marcus coming towards her.

"Marcus! Thank God, you're okay. Mary is really worried about you. You should call her!"

"How did she even find out…?" Marcus shook his head and didn't properly finish that sentence, but it was enough to confirm Elizabeth's worst fears. "Yeah, all right, I was headed home anyway."

Even if his words hadn't said as much, the haunted look on his face would have sufficed. Elizabeth didn't bother beating around the bush. "Where's Peter?"

Marcus sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Hospital, I think. New York-Presbyterian…"

Elizabeth didn't wait for him to say anything else or explain. She was already halfway out the door, her heart beating frantically. She wasn't sure if she felt better or worse now. Hospital meant that Peter was still alive, but it didn't say what condition he was in exactly. She tried not to think about that, though, while she hailed another cab.

At the hospital, Elizabeth had no idea where to go. She was looking for the next nursing station to ask for help when she passed the waiting area and stopped.

There he was. He sat with his elbows propped on his knees and his head buried in his hands. Every ounce of him radiated exhaustion. But he was alive. He wasn't even in a hospital bed.

"Peter!?"

He lifted his head and looked up in complete surprise. "El?"

She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck with such force that Peter, who had only just gotten to his feet, was almost knocked back down into his chair. But he kept his balance, and when Peter's arms went around her, Elizabeth had a hard time holding in the sobs that threatened to break free from her chest.

"Oh, honey, it's okay. I'm fine. I'm not hurt," Peter assured her and rubbed soothing circles into her back.

Elizabeth took a couple of deep breaths and tried to rein in her terror. She hadn't come here to make Peter feel worse after all.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she managed to say.

Peter nodded slowly. "Are you?"

"I am now," she replied, taking a step back so she could really look at him. That's when she saw the tear in his left sleeve. "What's that?"

Peter sighed. "It's a bullet hole. But it just grazed me," he added quickly. "I'm not the one who got hit."

"Who did?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide.

"Carl. He was right behind me. The bullet hit him just two fingers above his protective vest."

Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth. "Carl is… dead?"

"No! Honey, he's in surgery," Peter said, squeezing her hands. "I don't know how he's doing yet, but he's a fighter."

Elizabeth took another steadying breath. "Then who died?"

"Jerry Conley. He is… was from the cyber division and he wasn't even supposed to be there." Peter shook his head and Elizabeth had never seen him look so tired. "But how do you even know about that? How did you know to come here?"

"Mary called me. She was worried about Marcus because she had heard of a dangerous FBI operation that had gone down tonight. She said that someone had died, and I just couldn't sit there and wait if you would come home or…" She couldn't finish that sentence.

"I'm sorry, El. I should have called you," Peter said, pulling her into his arms again and kissing her forehead.

Elizabeth rested her head on his chest. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on?" she asked softly.

"I didn't want you to worry. We knew this counterfeiting ring was dangerous and well-connected, but we had a solid plan. Carl and I had gotten in, earned their trust. Our covers were airtight. We had backstopped the hell out of them, thanks to Jerry and Marcus. But then Interpol got involved and they pressured Hughes into taking them down sooner than we had planned to. The Interpol agents rushed into it and things got a lot uglier than they should have been." Peter kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

Elizabeth didn't say anything. She didn't trust herself to say anything right now. She just held on to her husband, who was miraculously, mercifully, still alive.

"Honey, maybe you should go home, get some rest," Peter suggested after a while.

"I'm not going anywhere without you," Elizabeth didn't hesitate with her answer this time. "And I'm not leaving you until we know Carl is going to be okay."

For the first time tonight, Peter smiled a little. "Okay, but we've got to stop spending time in hospitals like this."

Elizabeth wasn't about to argue with that. She was too tired and upset anyway. They sat back down and Elizabeth rested her head on Peter's shoulder while he held her hand in his lap.

She wasn't sure if she had dozed off for a while or not, but she had no idea how much time had passed when she was startled awake by Peter getting up to speak to a doctor.

When he came back, he reached for her hand. "Come on, honey. He's out of surgery."

Relieved, Elizabeth followed her husband down a hallway until they stopped outside a room in the ICU. Inside she could see Carl lying in a hospital bed. He was unconscious but breathing on his own.

"Will he be okay?" Elizabeth asked hopefully.

Peter nodded. "Yes, he'll need some time to recover, but the doctors say he got lucky."

"How come they were even talking to you? Doesn't Carl have any family?"

"There's only his mother, who is in a nursing home and won't be able to visit," Peter told her.

Elizabeth looked at Carl's sleeping form again. "That's a little sad."

"He says it actually makes his job easier."

After today, Elizabeth thought she understood what Carl meant by that, but in a situation like this everyone should have someone who cared enough to sit with them. It didn't look like he was going to wake up tonight, though. So this time, she didn't protest when Peter suggested that they should go home now.

But she did snatch his keys right out of his hands when they got to the car.

"What are you doing, honey?"

"You got shot at. I'm driving," she explained curtly.

"El, I told you, I'm..." He stopped when he saw the look on her face and got into the car on the passenger's side without another word.

Truth be told, Elizabeth was almost too tired to drive, but she wasn't about to admit that. And they made it home without incident and headed straight to bed.

When Peter leaned over to kiss her good night, he said, "I'm sorry for what you had to go through tonight."

Elizabeth almost laughed, except this was the opposite of funny. "I'm not the one who was out there. I'm so sorry for Carl and... Jerry," she said, making a point to remember his name even if she had never met him – and now never would. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. Did he... did he have a family?" she asked softly.

Peter sighed. "Honey, don't do that to yourself."

"I'm not. I'm just so grateful that you're okay, I'd like to help if I can. If he has... had a wife or..."

"I don't know," Peter admitted with a pained expression on his face. "But I can find out for you tomorrow." He gave her a sad little smile. "It's going to be okay, though. The Bureau takes care of their own. It's part of the job."

Elizabeth only nodded weakly because they both knew that it would never be okay again for Jerry's family, no matter what anyone did to help them. When Peter was about to turn off his bedside lamp, she asked quietly, "Would you ever consider doing something else? Something where taking care of a dead agent's family isn't even necessary?"

Peter froze and slowly turned back around to face her, clearly caught off guard by her question. He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind and closed it again, looking helpless. "Honey, I..."

His voice trailed off and Elizabeth didn't push him for an answer. She wasn't sure where that question had come from anyway. She kissed him on the cheek and reached out to turn off her own lamp. "Let's just try to go to sleep," she said and rolled onto her side.

Peter sat there for a moment longer before he also turned off the light. He then rolled onto his side as well and wrapped an arm around her.

Elizabeth sighed and rested her hand on top of his before she finally closed her eyes.

* * *

Sitting up and leaning against the headboard of the bed, Peter wasn't sure if he had gotten much sleep that night. It certainly didn't feel that way, and he hadn't expected it to. Just like back in his days as an athlete after a big game, he only felt the full extent of what had gone down in an FBI operation when he woke up the morning after. When all the adrenaline had finally left his body.

There was still time until his alarm would go off, but Peter knew there was no use in trying to go back to sleep. He was too busy dissecting everything that had happened yesterday in his head, isolating what had gone wrong and formulating ideas on how to salvage the operation.

And then there was this question El had blindsided him with last night. Would he be willing to move on from the FBI?

They had both been through a very intense and emotional couple of hours. So perhaps the question shouldn't have surprised him that much. But El had never asked him anything like that before. She had asked him why he wanted to be an FBI agent, of course, she had expressed her concerns about it, and asked him to be safe. And that was it.

So yeah, Peter hadn't seen it coming and he had failed her completely by not even coming up with an answer. Honestly, that worried him more than any botched operation ever could.

Now, he was sitting here, watching El sleep. Everything seemed very simple in moments like this. Especially after a painful, senseless loss, it was perfectly clear to him that he had everything he could possibly need right here, being alive and safe with his beautiful wife by his side. As soon as he moved on from this moment, things became less clear, though.

Eventually, El stirred and blinked up at him. "Honey, you okay?" she mumbled, hugging her pillow, not quite awake yet.

Peter nodded. "Just couldn't sleep. I've been trying to come up with an answer to your question."

"What question?" El asked sleepily.

"About quitting the FBI," he reminded her and gently pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "And I'm sorry, El, but I don't know what to tell you."

He knew he loved her more than anything, which should have been his answer. But being an FBI agent was in his blood now. It was at the very core of him, and he had no idea who he was without it or if he would still be the same man, the man she loved. It was perhaps slightly ironic that he didn't think he was brave enough to find out.

El suddenly seemed wide awake and sat up as well. "Honey, I would never ask you to quit the FBI," she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

She looked incredibly beautiful with her hair all mussed up from the pillows, her eyes wide, and her face still showing signs of sleepiness. Instead of impeccable makeup, there was openness and vulnerability. Peter never felt closer to her than in these little stolen moments.

"Wouldn't you? Or is that only my wife talking who would always put me first?" he wondered.

"I'm not putting you first. I'm being with you. I was just shaken up last night. It'll be okay," El said and reached out for his hand, squeezing it firmly.

He had said the same thing yesterday, but Peter wasn't so sure about it anymore. Still, El seemed determined, and so he had no choice but to run with it.

He did it slowly, though. He took his time in the bathroom, hanging around to watch El get ready, driving her crazy by constantly being in her way. But to make her swat at him or roll her eyes at him was a whole lot better than to see those worry lines on her forehead. He then suggested to make pancakes for breakfast – not only to get over the guilt he felt when he watched El throw out the lasagna she had made last night.

Peter stalled for as long as he possibly could, but eventually, they both had to leave for work. That's when El's bravado began to fade.

"What are you going to do today?" she asked, taking a long time to straighten his tie.

Peter grabbed her hands and held them there, close to his chest. "Find a way to deal with this entire mess. Most likely, we'll be holed up in the conference room all day, pouring over everything that went wrong. Seriously, the worst thing that could happen to me today is a paper cut."

El's smile was thin, but it was there. "Okay, good luck with that then."

He leaned in and gave her a soft but lingering kiss. "I love you, honey."

"I love you, too."

His day went almost exactly as he had told El it would, minus the paper cut. So Peter made sure to pick up the phone and let her know that he was coming home for dinner tonight. Only to regret it not long after. He didn't actually believe in bad karma, but things were clearly not going his way right now. He got delayed by Hughes, and then, as soon as he got in the car, there was an accident and he got stuck in traffic, trying to find an alternative route home, just like everybody else.

When Peter finally made it home, dinner was cold – again – and so was El. Well, that was oversimplifying it, but she seemed a little closed off.

"I'm sorry, honey. There was an accident and traffic was terrible," he said as he was hanging up his jacket and putting away his gun.

"It's okay. I'll heat up dinner for you," El said, pecking his lips, and returned to the kitchen.

She then only fixed one plate and sat it down in front of him before she sat down across from him at the dinner table.

"You're not eating?" Peter asked, surprised.

El shrugged. "I'm not hungry."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, honey, I'm sure." She smiled at him then, but Peter felt a little awkward, eating on his own, while El just sat there, sipping her tea.

"So how was your day, honey?" he asked, trying to get over that feeling.

"Exhausting. Mr. Sanders dropped by unannounced. He wanted to see the books and he questioned every decision I've ever made. In the end, he's always perfectly happy with everything, but he just has to make sure we didn't spend too much money. And he never stops before my head feels like it's about to explode," El told him, and Peter was relieved that he wasn't seeing ghosts after all. Perhaps El was just worn out from her own job and not his.

"Oh, honey, you really shouldn't have bothered with cooking dinner after the day you've had," Peter said, lowering his fork. He really wasn't as interested in the food as he was in her.

El shook her head. "Actually, cooking was exactly what I needed."

"So you could cut something with Sanders' face on it into tiny little pieces?" Peter guessed.

"Well, it wasn't that bad, but yeah, something like that," El nodded, giving him at least a little smile. "Did you find out about Jerry's family?"

"Yes, he wasn't married, and his parents are living in Florida, which is also where they'll bury him."

"Oh, I guess that's too far away to go to his funeral then."

"It is, but I'm sure his parents would appreciate that you wanted to come," Peter said softly.

"They are burying their child. I don't think anything could make them feel better right now," El replied.

"No, probably not." Peter reached across the table for her hand. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

El laced their fingers together, but she said, "I think I'll just go to bed early."

And so that's what they did.

* * *

The next day, Peter had learned from his mistakes. When he was almost done at work, he didn't call ahead to get El's hopes up and then possibly screw it up again. He just showed up in perfect time for dinner. Actually, he and El came home at almost the exact same time. Apparently, Sanders hadn't paid another visit to the gallery and El's mood was greatly improved. So they made dinner together and this time they also ate together.

When El stood to carry the dirty dishes over to the sink, Peter followed her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Shall we do this later and go out to catch a movie? Make it an official date night?" he suggested, pressing a kiss to her neck. Yes, the FBI had suffered a loss this week, but he didn't want them – and especially El, who had nothing to do with all of this – to stop living because of it. And at the very least, Carl's recovery was going well, which was worth a celebration.

El turned her head a little. "Isn't there a game on?" she asked.

"Um, yes, I think so," Peter replied, slightly confused.

"Then you should go ahead and watch that. I promised Mom I would call her tonight after dinner. We can go out another time."

To Peter, that didn't sound like sufficient reason for her not to want to go out. But El gave him a gentle push towards the couch, and so he did as he was told and turned on the TV. He would have felt silly arguing about this. He hadn't managed to catch a game in a while, so of course he was more than happy to stay in and watch. And it seemed like El was too.

She cleaned up the kitchen, and when that was done, she grabbed the phone and settled on the couch next to him – talking to her mother about a wide range of topics, none of them even close to what had happened the other night, though.

Peter was torn between watching the game and watching his wife. She was perfectly sweet and supportive today, and she was right there – her free hand, the one that wasn't holding the phone, resting on his upper thigh the entire time. But she wasn't actually paying attention to him. That didn't change when they went to bed and all he got was a quick good-night kiss that made it perfectly clear that nothing else was going to happen in this bed tonight. In fact, nothing had happened all week.

Perhaps it was the ridiculous newlywed in him, but Peter couldn't help the feeling that they were fighting about something. But as long as El wouldn't say, he had no idea how to ask. After all, she wasn't actually angry, just strangely unavailable.

He was beginning to think that might be worse.

His sleep was restless, but apparently, not as restless as El's. Peter was jolted awake in the middle of the night when El's hand landed in his face, followed by an audible gasp from her before her eyes flew open, wide with terror.

Peter removed her hand from his face and pressed a kiss to her palm. "Everything okay, honey?"

El took a moment to blink away the images. "Yes, just a bad dream."

"You want to talk about it?" Peter offered gently.

"No, it's fine. Just go back to sleep, honey," El replied, hugging her pillow tightly as if that could keep the nightmares at bay.

Peter looked at her for a moment, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

El's eyes flew open again. "What?"

"Tell me that dream had nothing to do with what happened the other night."

"That doesn't make it your fault, honey. Now go back to sleep." She rolled onto her other side, turning her back to him.

Peter sighed and decided to just come out with it. "Honey, I know you're upset with me. Please just tell me what you want me to do."

"What are you talking about? I'm not upset with you," El muttered into her pillow.

"Then why won't you look at me?" Peter kept pushing.

Slowly, El rolled onto her back and then turned her head towards him. "I'm not upset with you," she repeated.

Peter propped himself up on his left elbow and kept looking at her because, clearly, there was more she wasn't saying.

"I'm not! It's just…" El directed her eyes at the ceiling. "You're an FBI agent and that makes me an FBI wife. I thought I had learned how to live with that. But ever since that night I can barely breathe when you're out there. I feel like I'm free-falling and I don't know how to stop it. So no, it's not you I'm upset with," she concluded softly.

That honestly made this worse. He hated that El was struggling with a burden she shouldn't even have to carry and that she was beating herself up over something that wasn't her fault. Even if she said that this wasn't on him, it really was. And it made Peter feel a whole lot worse than if she had actually accused him of something.

He used his free hand to reach out for hers. "Honey, I know what happened was scary, but it's not going to happen again tomorrow. You know I'm not always in danger. Yes, I work for the FBI, but don't forget that I'm in White Collar. Most of the time I just sit at a perfectly safe desk in a very secure building, buried in insurance fraud and mortgage scams."

"But I can never know that for sure. Just like I didn't know you were involved in that big undercover operation. And Jerry from Cyber probably didn't expect to step away from his computer and end up like this either," El pointed out.

Peter sighed because it was hard to argue with that one or justify his decision to keep her out of the loop. "What happened to Jerry was tragic and senseless and not how the FBI usually runs its ops. But I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I'll tell you next time."

El rolled onto her side so she could bring her face closer to his and face him fully. "No, don't tell me next time. Tell me now. What are you doing tomorrow? What are you working on right now?"

"It's mostly just paperwork. Like I told you, the bigger the op, the more paperwork we have to deal with afterwards."

"Yes, you've been telling me that for days. But I don't think it's true," El said quietly, a little sad even.

Suddenly Peter realized what a huge mistake he had made. By trying to spare her unnecessary worry and not telling her about what was going on, he had achieved the opposite and robbed her of whatever peace of mind she had come to rely on. Now, El automatically seemed to assume that he was keeping things from her, which, strictly speaking, he was, but only work stuff, nothing personal. Except, he was beginning to understand that, to El, it was the same thing. And her trust was something he absolutely could not lose.

"Oh, the paperwork is quite real," Peter assured her to lighten the mood at least a little bit before he added, "But we also have been gearing up to go after the guys who got away during the shooting."

El merely nodded. She had expected this. "When?" she asked simply.

"We're waiting on a solid lead. Could be tomorrow, if we're lucky. We don't want them to get away."

"Is it going to be dangerous again?"

"It could be. But we have a better idea of what to expect now and we'll be prepared this time," Peter promised her.

"How? What are you going to do?" El wanted to know.

Peter hesitated for just a moment. Then he told her everything. Technically, this was sensitive information from an ongoing investigation that he wasn't allowed to share. But he didn't care. He shared everything else with El. Yes, this was classified information that should be exempted, but keeping it from her had clearly hurt her and made him feel like a bad husband. That was not something he wanted to do again. Ever. And El wasn't going to tell anyone or harm their investigation in any way.

All she did was listen intently. "Did you check out the Met? Their annual international art gala is this week. Everybody who's connected to the art world will be there at some point, including those who make money in ways that are not necessarily above board. If your guys are looking for a contact or want to sell a piece, they could try to blend in with the crowd."

They had in fact known about the gala, but Peter hadn't been aware that it was such a big deal. Perhaps they needed to take a closer look. He smiled at El. "That's a good idea."

She made a face. "You're humoring me."

"No! I'm just surprised you want to help."

"Honey, I do want you to do your job. I just want you to be safe while you're doing it," El said.

Peter held out his arms wordlessly and El moved in closer until her head rested on his chest and he had both of his arms wrapped around her. "I will. I promise you, El," he said then, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"You better," she replied. "And thank you for telling me."

Peter smiled before he closed his eyes and eventually drifted off to sleep again.

During breakfast the next morning he waited for El to say something that would make him regret his decision to tell her about everything that was going on. Knowing that something dangerous might happen today surely had to make her worry more, not less, even if she had asked to be told. She seemed okay, though, not too anxious. But at the moment, Peter didn't really trust his ability to tell.

When he kissed her goodbye before leaving for the office, El rested a hand on his chest and said, "You go get them, honey."

Caught by surprise, Peter paused. Then he grinned and stole one more kiss. "I love you, honey."

"I love you, too," she said. "And don't you dare worry about me while you're out there. I'll be fine," she called after him on his way to the door.

Peter shook his head, and he left the apartment, laughing softly.

* * *

He felt like he had spent way too much time in the hospital this week. Even when he was here voluntarily. Carl still hadn't been released, and since he didn't have any family members to visit him, Peter didn't want to leave him hanging. He also didn't want to listen to him complain about not getting enough visits once he got out. He knew Carl would never let that go. He would use every opportunity to play the pity card and describe in detail how he had been all alone and bored out of his mind in that hospital room.

Peter picked up the pace, but before he had even reached Carl's room, he could already hear his voice all across the hallway. It didn't sound as if he was alone. He also didn't sound unhappy.

He yelled, "Go fish!"

At first, Peter thought about leaving, since Carl clearly already had company. But he had come all the way down here and now he was a little curious. So Peter proceeded towards Carl's room and a huge grin spread across his face when he heard a second, very familiar voice.

"You do realize this is a kid's game, right?"

Sure enough, when he reached the doorway, Peter saw his wife sitting in a chair next to Carl's hospital bed with a bunch of cards in her hand.

"That's because kids get to have all the fun," Carl said, not having noticed Peter yet. "Well, with the exception of certain very pleasurable activities reserved for grown-ups if you..."

"Okay, yes, I get it," El interrupted him quickly.

Carl grinned at her. "See, I told you I'd be an excellent distraction."

"That's not the only reason I came here."

"Oh, I know, and I appreciate the flowers and the candy. And in return I offer you my services to help you forget all about your husband." Carl made a face. "That came out wrong."

El laughed. "I know what you meant. You're saying I should stop worrying about Peter, so he doesn't have to worry about me worrying about him, which only makes me worry about him more because he might be distracted because of me."

"Yes, I mean, damn, that's a lot of worry!"

"It comes from a lot of love," El replied, making Peter smile.

Carl rolled his eyes. "For the record, I didn't make you come here to play cards with sad ol' me rather than be insufferably happy with Peter. I'm not keeping you. But you know, if you ever do get tired of him and his boring ties..."

"Hey, getting shot at doesn't give you permission to make a pass at my wife," Peter said, deciding now would be a good time to make himself known.

"Oh, hey, Peter!" Carl looked up. "Are you a spook now or what, hiding in the doorway like that? We were just having a nice conversation while I was kicking your wife's butt at playing cards."

"He's cheating," El said before Peter could ask Carl to refrain from referencing any of his wife's body parts.

She had turned around in her chair and Peter now stepped into the room to bend down and kiss her on the cheek. "Of course, he is." Then he focused on Carl. "How are you doing?"

"Doctors are getting on my nerves. But it's all good. Don't worry. I'll be outta here in no time. Especially now that Elizabeth has brightened up the place. How come you never brought me flowers?"

"Because that's why they call it having a better half," Peter replied with a hand on El's shoulder. She smiled and placed her own hand on top of his.

Carl shook his head. "Man, you guys are just too much. But enough of that! You want in on the game, or what?"

Peter pulled up another chair and quickly found himself in the most competitive round of 'Go fish' he had ever played. It was beyond silly but in a good way because everybody was laughing before too long. El was relaxed, Carl looked almost healthy again, and Peter felt like he had finally done something right.

When a nurse informed them that visiting hours were over, Peter and El said their goodbyes to Carl and slowly made their way back to the parking lot. El was holding his hand and she seemed happy after having managed to beat Carl at his own game. So Peter didn't want to break the spell.

Eventually, it was El who asked, "So how was it today?"

Peter hesitated for a split second before he confessed, "We thought we had them, but they didn't show." His back hurt a little from sitting in the surveillance van all day, poised to jump out and into action. Usually, he loved a good stakeout and the feeling that all their patience would eventually be rewarded. But this time, he just wanted results so El could stop worrying about this. She had asked him to tell her the truth, though, so that's what he did.

"You'll get them tomorrow then," she said simply.

They had reached the car and Peter paused before he opened the passenger door for her. "You okay with this?" he asked.

El shrugged. "I knew you had a plan, and it sounded like a good one, so yes, I knew you were being safe."

Being okay with it wasn't necessarily the same as not being worried. But at the very least, Peter's decision to give her the details of the case hadn't seemed to make matters worse.

Which was a start.

* * *

Elizabeth had just dealt with two rambunctious kids who had gotten away from their parents and had begun to race each other through the halls. She had told them that there was no running allowed in the DeArmitt Gallery but that there was hot cocoa to be had in the café. That's when Peter suddenly entered the gallery, and he also came dangerously close to running.

Thankfully, the kids were already out of sight. So she didn't have to tell him off, too, for inappropriate behavior.

"Honey, what are you doing here? What's going on?" Elizabeth asked, looking for signs that something was wrong. But Peter looked okay. Actually, he looked extremely cute with his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed from running and his tie thrown over his shoulder.

"We got them, El," he said while he was still catching his breath.

"You did? That's great, honey!" She was so relieved to hear that, she pressed a kiss to his lips, though there were other visitors around. She also felt a little confused as to why Peter had thought it necessary to come running in here to tell her that. Confused and a little guilty because, clearly, she had made him do this.

"Yes, we have them, and I got the immediate after action report done, and everything else can wait. Hughes told us to take the weekend. So I was hoping you could get away, too," Peter explained, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He was still on a high from closing this case, with anticipation at the prospect of getting to spend time with her mixed in.

Elizabeth loved that look on him, but she glanced hesitantly at the rest of the gallery. Yes, it was Friday, and tomorrow was their anniversary, but it was barely noon. "Honey, I would love to, but..."

Peter grabbed her hands before she could finish. "I made a reservation for us at a bed & breakfast. It's called the Rusty Egret and it's up in the Green Mountains."

"The Green Mountains in _Vermont?"_ El asked, her eyes widening.

"Yes, nothing but nature. We can get away from all of this – or as far away as we can reasonably get for a weekend. It would be just us, just like you wanted," Peter said gently and that look in his eyes was really all it took.

If she hadn't done so before, Elizabeth now certainly realized that her life with Peter would never be boring. He worked long hours and scared her half to death when he didn't come home, but then he turned around and swept her off her feet and off to Vermont. It didn't even matter where to exactly. She would follow this man anywhere. But to be alone sounded like just the thing they needed right now.

"Okay, come with me," Elizabeth said and led Peter back into her office. "Now, sit here and don't move while I go talk to Tracy. Or do I have to bribe you with hot cocoa, too?"

"What?" Peter asked, his brow furrowing.

Elizabeth laughed. "Never mind."

Not much later, they were sitting in the car on their way up to the Green Mountains. It was a longer drive, so Elizabeth asked Peter to tell her what exactly had happened today. It didn't surprise her that her husband had played an integral part in making the arrest.

"I'm proud of you, honey," she said, patting his thigh.

Peter's eyes darted from her hand to her face and back to the road. "Why do I feel like there's a 'but' coming?"

"But..." Elizabeth said, flashing him a smile, "I really hope Hughes will throw a couple of good old mortgage fraud cases at you for at least a month."

Peter laughed. "Would you still like me to tell you about those in detail?"

Elizabeth made a face, but in for a penny, in for a pound, she supposed. "Sure, at least I won't have any more problems falling asleep."

"I'm so glad to hear that my job is boring you, honey."

"If only," Elizabeth muttered and turned to look out the window.

It was really lovely out here and the Rusty Egret turned out to be a charming little bed & breakfast in the middle of nowhere. Everything was so quiet and peaceful, Elizabeth felt like she could breathe easier right away. Even the air seemed more crisp. Sure, there were no fancy restaurants or clubs around, not even a movie theater, but Elizabeth was very sure that she and Peter would find something to do.

There was no one around except for the woman behind the reception desk, who greeted them warmly. "You must be the Burkes. Welcome to the Rusty Egret! I'm Marla, and we're so happy to have you. Did you find the place okay? I know it can be difficult the first time around."

"Yes, thank you. We saw the sign out on the road," Peter replied.

Actually, they had gotten turned around a couple of times before that, and Peter, being an experienced federal agent and all that, had refused to ask for directions and credited his Quantico training for eventually spotting the sign.

Elizabeth looped her arm through his and said, "My husband is excellent at finding things."

Naturally, Peter detected the suppressed laughter in her voice and looked at her with a hint of a smile touching his lips. "I am. I found you, didn't I?"

"Aww, isn't that adorable!" Marla said while Elizabeth smiled back at Peter with her eyes. "And I sure will remember that the next time one of our hikers goes missing."

Peter looked from Elizabeth back to their hostess. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Every now and then. We have lots of trails around here as you will see for yourself if you go out for a hike, which you absolutely should do. It's beautiful."

"Unless you get lost, right?" Elizabeth joked.

Marla laughed. "Well, yes, but don't worry, my dear. You'll be perfectly safe if you stick to a few rules. You just come talk to me and I will tell you which trails are good for beginners... or perhaps the most romantic? Is this a special occasion by any chance?"

"It's our first wedding anniversary," Elizabeth told her, running her hand up and down Peter's arm.

"I thought as much. Then I won't keep you any longer. Here's your key. You get our best room. I'm sure you'll love it!"

Elizabeth wasn't a hundred percent sure about the hiking, but Marla hadn't lied about the room. Sure, it had a bit of a rustic charm, but clearly everything in here had been picked out with a lot of thought. There was a big comfortable bed with dozens of soft pillows, two recliners that were perfect for reading, and a wonderful balcony that made Elizabeth feel like she was literally at nature's doorstep. And they had it all for themselves with nothing and no one to distract them. It looked like there wasn't even a phone in the room and Peter's cell would never get reception up here. She couldn't have wished for anything better for their anniversary.

"It's beautiful, honey," Elizabeth said, putting her thoughts into words while she admired the view.

Peter put down their bags and walked over to her to cup her face in his hands. "So are you. You are everything to me, El. That was true a year ago when we got married and it is even more so now. That's why it kills me to see you so miserable."

Surprised and both touched and saddened by his words, Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest. "Honey, I'm not miserable. That's why this entire case came out of left field for me. Because now that we're married, losing you and going on without you is even more of an impossibility than ever."

Peter's eyes sparkled at the baseball reference, but he was completely serious when he said, "You know I want to grow old with you. I would never do anything to risk that."

"I know. I know you're a good agent. I trust you to come home to me," Elizabeth said firmly. "But I'm not going to be that unsuspecting wife who gets that phone call out of nowhere. I need to know. I need to know when you're doing something dangerous because then I'll also know that you're prepared and that I won't be made a widow."

He smiled at the fierceness coming off of her and lowered his hands, letting them slide down her arms until he was holding her hands. "I promise you, El, whenever I can, I will tell you what I know. Talking to you about this case was actually very helpful because we did identify one of their contacts at the Met gala."

Elizabeth laughed. "Will I get credit for that in your report?"

"Unfortunately, the Bureau would frown upon you having access to sensitive case information."

"Well, they'll just have to deal with that then because you're my husband and I won't let anyone tell me that anything about you is off-limits to me."

Peter grinned. "I like the sound of that," he said, leaning in for a kiss.

Elizabeth tilted her head back, a teasing smile on her lips. "So, were you planning on going hiking now or...?"

Before she could even finish that sentence, he had picked her up and carried her over to the bed. Elizabeth sank into the pillows, and it felt so good to laugh and love after all that anxiety, it almost made her tear up. But she pushed those thoughts aside and pulled Peter down onto the bed with her.

Perhaps tomorrow they would get to explore the mountains, but tonight the only place where they belonged was with each other, and the rest of the world could stay outside.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was inspired by a couple of episodes, 'Shoot the Moon' among them of course. I've been meaning to give an explanation why the Rusty Egret is special to Peter and El, and I thought it would be very fitting if it was part of a time in their marriage when they came to their agreement of having no secrets. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and see you next week.**


	20. Two Lines

**A/N: First of all, over 100 reviews! Thank you so much for that. Your support means the world to me. Now, a little warning: for this chapter you might want to have a tissue or two handy. Proceed with caution.**

* * *

"This kitchen is way too small." El turned around in circles, the disapproving look on her face impossible to miss.

Peter opened the backdoor that led into the yard. "The back yard is very nice, though, and big." Lots of room to throw a ball out there.

"Do you want me to cook out in the yard, too?" El asked, joining him in the doorway.

"We could have a barbecue like on the last Fourth of July," he joked because he knew they had already made their decision and were just messing around at this point.

El merely laughed as well. "What about the other 364 days of the year?"

Peter wrapped an arm around her waist. "Well, I never expected us to like the first house we take a look at."

According to some article El had read, the honeymoon phase was followed by a period of adjustments. Peter didn't feel like their marriage needed adjusting, and he wasn't entirely convinced that their honeymoon phase was actually over. He was still falling a little bit more in love with El every morning he woke up next to her. But maybe that was just him.

After two years of being married and being so very much in love that they suddenly hadn't minded living in their relatively small apartment, they had finally remembered that they had indeed planned to adjust their living situation after the wedding. Of course, they had also needed time for their finances to recover from paying for that wedding.

It had been a mere coincidence that they had spotted the advertising for this open house. They had been on their way to Peter's dad for a Sunday brunch. They hadn't been in a hurry and had decided to stop by to satisfy their curiosity.

The only thing Peter had learned from this open house, however, was that this would probably only be the beginning of a very long process.

El seemed to agree. "Let's go then and not keep Robert and Cecile waiting."

They got back in the car and drove out to his dad's. When Peter had parked the car in the driveway, he took a moment to take it in. "Now that is a house," he said.

El smiled at him. "Would be a bit of a long commute, but yes, it's a very nice house."

The front door opened and Robert hollered, "Are you two coming inside or are we having brunch in the car?"

They laughed and made their way inside the house.

"I'm sorry, Robert. We just came from an open house, and now we're a little envious of your beautiful home," El explained after they had hugged hello.

"Oh, you're thinking about moving?" Cecile asked.

"Well, not right away, but we thought it couldn't hurt to take a look," Peter said. He didn't want to make waves. He didn't need the extra pressure of his dad getting involved with helpful tips or opinions, or constantly checking if they had found a new place yet.

His dad had an entirely different idea, though, and asked, "Any particular reason why you need more room in the future, like in the next nine months or so perhaps?"

Peter shot his dad an exasperated look. "No, Dad, that is not the only reason why two people might want to move out of a one-bedroom apartment."

"All right, no need to give me that look, son. Am I not allowed to ask if I can be expecting grandkids?"

As usual, El smoothed things over by looping her arm through Robert's. "Of course, you can ask, but how about some coffee first?"

She led him away into the kitchen while Peter watched them go with an amused expression on his face. "She had him wrapped around her finger since the day she met him," he muttered.

Cecile chuckled. "Well, she is a wonderful woman."

"No argument here," Peter replied, grinning.

"And for the record, Robert is not the only one who thinks you two would have beautiful children." She winked at him before they followed the other two.

Thankfully, that was not the only topic of conversation during brunch. In fact, it only came up again afterwards. Robert and Cecile were doing the dishes and had specifically told them not to help, so Peter and Elizabeth had stepped out into the yard.

"You know, if we don't find a house with a yard that's big enough, you could always come out here to play ball – if we had a child who liked to play ball. I'm not sure if that's something you can pass on," El mused.

Surprised, Peter turned to look at her. He hadn't even said that part out loud earlier at the open house, but of course, El knew. Still, he felt obligated to say, "Don't let my dad get into your head, El."

She just gave him a smile that was almost serene. "He can't put something in my head that was already there. And using this as additional motivation to find a house might not be such a bad idea."

"What do you mean by additional motivation?" Peter asked.

El looked over her shoulder to make sure that they were still alone before she answered. "I need to refill my prescription for the pill next week. Unless I don't."

Peter stared at her for a moment.

He had really liked the plan they had agreed on before the wedding. Buy a house, get the move over with, make sure their finances were still in order, and then figure out how he could be an FBI agent and a father at the same time. But it was probably never going to work out like that. In life, one rarely got to check all the boxes so neatly and in the right order – no matter how much Peter liked to do that when he was working a case.

And while El wasn't pressuring him into giving her a quick answer, the excitement in her eyes was unmistakable. And it really was exciting. Peter wasn't immune to the temptation of picturing what it would be like. To watch El glow with pride while she was carrying their child. To finally hold that tiny human being that the two of them had created somehow. And to witness all those firsts, the first step, the first word, and yes, the first baseball game, because no matter what El said, Peter fully intended to pass that on.

But he was getting ahead of himself here. Way ahead.

"What if you get pregnant and we still haven't found a house?" he asked. He wasn't saying no, he was just trained to consider all the risks. And that wasn't even the biggest one. In this post 9/11 world they were living in now, the risks were actually too numerous to even think about. But how to keep a child safe was probably a conundrum for when they had actually conceived one.

"It's not going to happen right away. Getting pregnant will probably take some time after going off the pill. And then we'd have even more time until the baby is actually born. So I think we could figure it out if we wanted to," El said softly.

Clearly, of the two of them, Peter was more scared. But that was okay. He might be the one who carried a gun, but he could let El take the lead on this one.

He reached out to squeeze her hand. "Then let's figure it out."

* * *

As it turned out, they weren't in any hurry.

House-hunting was exactly as difficult and slow-going as Peter had imagined, and El wasn't getting pregnant, which gave them an excuse to keep looking. Most houses either weren't quite what they were looking for, out of their price range, or somebody else made a better offer. But they agreed not to rush it. Peter wanted a house that fulfilled all (or at least most of) their criteria, one of them being that they didn't need to take too big a risk financially, and El wanted a house she could just fall in love with.

When the first couple of months of fun trial and error turned into another set of months of more serious considerations and then stretched into a year, the manager and planer in El finally got the better of her. They began to check for new listings daily, made pro and contra lists, reached out to more real estate agencies, and coordinated their search. Some nights their living room looked like the conference room at the office when the FBI conducted a man hunt. That actually made it fun.

Also, for possibly the first time ever since Peter had known her, El nagged him about coming home from work and not working late when she had identified a perfect baby-making window. Because they had a schedule for that too now. As far as nagging phone calls went, those were pretty spectacular.

It was in bed late at night after one of those crazy days that El first brought up Cobble Hill. Peter had been swamped with work, which had resulted in him leaving late and racing home like a maniac, so he could still try to get his wife pregnant. As a result, he was ready to pass out now, but El seemed perfectly energized. He hoped that was a good sign regarding the pregnancy.

"I spoke to the real estate agent again and she may have found something interesting in Cobble Hill, which is a small neighborhood in Brooklyn. It's just about 40 blocks, but it looks very nice with lots of family homes and fairly green streets. It's a town house on Warren Street, so I don't know how big the yard is going to be. But you would need less than half an hour to drive to work."

"Sounds like you did quite a bit of research already," Peter replied, trying to keep his eyes open.

"I don't want us to waste any more time. I think the neighborhood sounds perfect and we should definitely take a look. Can you take a long lunch hour sometime next week, so we can schedule a showing?" El asked.

Peter wrapped an arm around her and buried his head in the nook between her neck and shoulder. "Mm-hmm."

El ran a hand through his hair. "Honey, are you listening to me?"

"Lunch break, Warren Street, Cobble Hill, town house. I'll be there," he summed up their conversation.

"Will you? Because I haven't even given you a street number yet."

Peter smiled. "I work for the FBI, honey. I'll figure it out."

"Or maybe you should just write it down now," El suggested.

"Maybe you should put your legs up," Peter replied.

El snorted. "You know that's a myth."

"How about lying still and just relax a little?"

"I am lying still. But I can talk while I'm lying still and multitask while I'm trying to get pregnant."

"Well, I prefer to focus on the important tasks and sleep in between."

"Fine, I'll give you the full address tomorrow," El said.

Peter pressed a kiss to her neck. "Love you, honey."

* * *

When Peter drove over the Brooklyn Bridge and into Cobble Hill on his lunch break a few days later, he couldn't argue with El's preliminary assessment of the neighborhood. It did look nice, relatively safe, and as if they could afford to live here. Also, they were in the jurisdiction of the 76th precinct, and Peter knew at least one detective there who was a decent guy. But that would probably be of less interest to El than the school and playground he had just passed.

He parked the car – there was ample street parking, which was good since he already knew that the house didn't have a garage – and spotted El waiting outside the house. She was talking to an elderly woman who had a small, hyperactive poodle on a leash. Before Peter reached them, the woman and her poodle had already continued down the street.

"Getting to know the neighbors?" Peter asked after kissing El hello.

"Sort of. Mrs. Richmond lives a couple of blocks away," she replied.

"Good, because it didn't look like that poodle would ever stop barking."

"Yes, apparently, Mr. Cuddles doesn't like dogs that are taller than him, or people, for that matter, which is tough when you're a poodle."

Peter furrowed his brow. "His name is Mr. Cuddles?"

"I told you this is a nice neighborhood," El said. "And according to Mrs. Richmond, also very good for walking a dog."

"Then we have to make sure to get one that's taller than Mr. Cuddles," Peter said, making El laugh.

She then took his hand and turned them around to face the house. "So what do you think?"

It was a three-story building without much of a front yard because there were stairs leading up to the door. A black iron fence separated the house from the sidewalk, and its white front set it apart from the adjoining red brick buildings.

"Looks nice," he said.

"It does, doesn't it?" El nodded.

The real estate agent approached them as fast as she possibly could in her high heels and apologized for being a little late before letting them inside the house.

"Now, I'll just let you have a look around. I'm here if you have any questions," she said, which made Peter like her immediately. He hated those realtors who insisted on following him everywhere while they tried to make him fall in love with the house – effectively achieving the opposite.

This way, he and El could explore everything on their own since it was only their opinions that mattered anyway.

"Wow, look at the big windows! There's so much light in here," El said when they were standing in the living room.

"No separate dining room, though, for those big dinner parties you've been secretly planning," Peter pointed out.

"No, but there's enough room here to put the sofa here by the windows and the dinner table over there by this beautiful fireplace and oh..." El had walked to the other end of the room and turned to her left. "Look at that kitchen."

Peter followed her and smiled, less because of the state-of-the-art kitchen appliances, marble counter tops and generous cupboard space, though those were certainly very nice, but mostly because of the light in El's big, round eyes.

"This one big enough?" he asked with a chuckle.

"It's beautiful," she replied, refusing to let him mock her.

He took her hand. "Let's check upstairs then."

They went up the wooden staircase and found more of the same there. The master bedroom had a polished floor, big windows, and another fireplace. It was blocked off, but it made the room look distinguished. The bathroom was shiny, looked to be recently renovated, and fully functional. And then there were two more bedrooms, which would give them lots of additional space, a bigger one up on the third floor and a smaller one next to the master bedroom, making it ideal for a nursery.

El sighed when she saw that one.

Peter kissed her on the cheek. "Looks like it has everything we need."

She gave him a hopeful smile and they took one more look before they went back downstairs.

The real estate agent smiled at them when they came down. "Have you seen the patio yet? It's through the backdoor by the kitchen. Saved the best for last."

They followed her suggestion and stepped outside. As they had already suspected since this was a town house, the back yard wasn't terribly big. But there was enough room for a little garden, and the patio was absolutely beautiful and very private, too, closed off from the neighbors with wooden partitions. Even to Peter, it felt like they would be safe out here, like El would be safe when he wasn't around. He liked that.

He wrapped his arms around El's shoulders. "This could be very romantic at night."

"I love it," she replied without hesitation, leaning into his embrace.

"You do?" Peter asked, grinning. She had rarely said that about any of the other houses they had looked at.

El nodded. "I really do. Do you?"

"It's a very beautiful house," Peter agreed. They were both quiet after that, getting a feel for the place. "So?"

"Well, we should sleep on it, I guess. Make sure we can afford it. And I mean, it is a lot of room, if..."

Peter kissed her to stop her from going wherever she had been about to go with the rest of that sentence. "Let's sleep on it."

* * *

Sipping a cup of coffee, Peter looked over the papers they had been given by the real estate agent and the bank. All that was left for them to do was to sign everything, and they would be homeowners. But so far, the documents were still missing both of their signatures. They were sure that they loved the house, but after all this time it felt like such a monumental decision, they were both dragging their feet a little. They needed to make a decision soon, though.

Peter heard a noise that told him that El was up. It was her day off, so he had intended to sneak out this morning and let her sleep in. But since she was out of bed now anyway, they could just as well talk about this before he left for work.

"Honey, the real estate agent called again," he said as he walked towards the bedroom. "She needs us to make a decision."

There was no response and the bedroom was empty, so Peter turned towards the half-open door to the bathroom and pushed it all the way open to look at El, who was sitting on the closed toilet lid. "So what do you think?"

El didn't answer. She didn't even look up at him. She was staring at something that was lying on the sink. Peter followed her gaze and forgot to breathe for a second.

"What's that?" he asked hoarsely, even though he knew perfectly well what it was.

"I'm late, so I bought the test yesterday. I told myself I would wait, but I couldn't wait any longer," El explained, her voice strained.

Since she didn't look like she was about to move, Peter stepped inside the room to take a closer look at the little stick. "There are two red lines here. What does that mean?" Seriously, couldn't they just spell it out for men like him who were too highly trained to figure out a simple pregnancy test? Or perhaps, just too nervous.

"El?"

She had closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them again, they were brimming with unshed tears – as well as overwhelming relief and deep-rooted joy. "It means… I think we should buy the house."

Peter took just a moment longer to process her words. "You do? So... two lines is good?"

El wiped her eyes and stood to face him. "Two lines is everything," she said, and her smile had never been more beautiful than in this moment.

Not sure how to deal with what her words did to him, Peter reached out and kissed her for as long as he could until he got scared that he might deprive her – and the baby – of oxygen. He hugged her then instead, until he got worried that he might squeeze too hard. Honestly, he had no idea what to do since he couldn't put bulletproof glass around her for the next nine months.

But there was other stuff he could do. "Okay, I'll get the papers to the bank and the real estate agency today. Maybe we should tell them that we need another look, though. Are we sure the house is babyproof? And I need to talk to Hughes about my working hours..."

El cupped his face in her hands. "Slow down, honey. It's not like this baby is coming tomorrow."

Peter took a deep breath. "Feels a little bit like it." Because what were nine months when it had only taken nine seconds for his reality to shift completely? Before he had stepped into this small, old bathroom, he had been a husband and an FBI agent and perfectly happy with that. Now, he was suddenly a father and a whole lot more, and it blew his mind.

"Did you even take a moment to be happy about this?" El asked.

"I don't think a moment will do, honey," he said and pushed a strand of hair out of her beautiful face. "But I know you'll be an amazing mom, and I couldn't be prouder to have this baby with you."

"And we couldn't ask for a better husband and father," El replied, her hand coming to rest on her lower belly.

For reasons that he couldn't quite comprehend, Peter hadn't dared to do the same. El smiled when she saw the look on his face and reached out to place his hand on her stomach where hers had just been moments ago. There was nothing there yet, of course, nothing to feel, no proof whatsoever, and yet Peter felt like he had never touched anything more precious to him.

"Now you can go do that stuff you just wanted to do," El said with a chuckle.

"Right, and you should sit," Peter told her.

El rolled her eyes. "Honey, I can't just sit for nine months."

"I think you can. Let me prove it to you." Peter directed her to sit back down on the toilet before he left the room and returned with those papers to hold them out for her to sign.

She shook her head at him, but she signed them and gave him a kiss afterwards.

"I'll go drop these off, and I'll be home early," he promised her. "Take it easy today."

"I will. I love you, honey."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Peter was buzzing with excitement when he came home that day, and he thought he had every right to be. Within the span of just a couple of hours, he had become a father and bought a house. His life had suddenly gotten a whole lot bigger. It was a little scary, but in a good way. He was ready to accept this challenge.

They had more than enough time to pack up the apartment before they could officially move into their new home. They could do it on weekends, so Peter could make sure that El wasn't overdoing it. And then he would hire movers if he had to. Actually, that was probably a good idea either way. The pregnancy was just an excellent excuse not to shy away from the expense.

Speaking of pregnancies, he couldn't wait to show El what he had found today. Peter put his gun away and made a mental note to get a safe for the new house. He was not going to leave a weapon lying around the house for their kid to find. Then he headed into the living room, where El was sitting at the dinner table with a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

"Honey, you won't believe what happened at work today. Linda from HR had her last day before going on maternity leave and Carl wanted to swing by because of the cake. Anyway, Linda's colleagues got her this, and I know it's silly and too soon, but when I saw it, I just had to get one for us." Peter held it up – it was a little onesie labeled 'World's Youngest FBI Agent.'

El's face had been partially hidden behind the teacup, but when she put it down now to look up at him as he had instructed her to, Peter could see it there in her eyes. It was already too late, though. El saw the onesie and her eyes widened for a second before she buried her face in her hands and started to shake uncontrollably with barely contained sobs.

Shocked, helpless, and immediately angry with himself, Peter stuffed the onesie back into his pocket and ran over to his wife. Since she was still sitting at the table, he crouched next to her chair and could only rub her back and run a hand up and down her arm.

"Honey, what's wrong? What happened?"

At first, El didn't react at all. Then she finally turned towards him and slid off the chair and into his arms. They were both sitting on the floor now, but that really wasn't Peter's biggest concern. El still wasn't saying anything. It didn't seem like she could say anything. She was clearly shaken to her very core. And Peter just knew. He felt his heart constrict in his chest.

There was not going to be a baby.

He closed his eyes. Fighting off his own sadness, his own grief. If you could grieve something that had never actually been there in the first place. It felt like he could. And it was twice as bad with El's pain mixed in.

But her pain was also what pulled him back. He had vowed to be strong for her. That was an easy thing to do when their love was already so strong by itself and, usually, so was El. Not today, though. Today, she needed him to live up to that promise.

Softly, Peter lifted El's chin so he could look at her while he wiped a couple of tears away. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed and, worst of all, as dim as he had ever seen them. "Are you okay?"

She understood what he was asking and took a deep, shaky breath. "Yes, I just got my period. This morning... it was a false positive."

Peter nodded. As much as he hated this, at least it provided him with some relief that El wasn't in pain physically. Apart from that, though, it was hard to know what to say.

It was El who spoke again first. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Peter furrowed his brow. "For what?"

"For making us think that we were pregnant. For not getting pregnant in the first place..." her voice hitched and fresh tears threatened to spill.

"Oh, honey, no," Peter interrupted her with as much force as he could muster to hide the pain in his own voice. "Don't say that. Don't even think that. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault."

He held her face in his hands and caressed her cheeks with his thumbs, waiting for El to manage a nod. When she did, he said, "We can try again. When we're ready."

El lowered her gaze, absent-mindedly playing with his tie. "I want us to go see a doctor."

"Honey..." Peter began, the blood in his veins turning cold.

This time, it was El who interrupted him. "It's been almost one and a half years. I just want to know that everything's okay."

Peter felt conflicted. Of course, he wanted to do whatever they needed to do to make this real – only within limits. He didn't like doctors. He had never known them to be anything other than the bearer of bad news. And as much as he wanted to have a baby with El, he didn't want to risk some doctor telling his wonderful, loving wife that there was something wrong with her. Or, if he was really honest with himself, that there was something wrong with him. That he was the one who was failing them. It felt like they would deliberately set themselves up for more hurt.

But he could see the toll this was taking on El and he understood that she couldn't go on like this. It seemed that being strong for her meant to ignore his misgivings about going to see a doctor and to figure out how to protect them from what the doctors would tell them.

"Okay, let's make an appointment," he said.

El gave him a small smile. "Thank you."

Peter held her gaze. "No matter what happens, though, it'll be okay. We will be okay." As much as they were hurting right now, he knew that to be true.

And so did El. She raised a hand to cup his cheek. "I know, hon."

* * *

He hadn't managed to figure out how to protect them from the doctors after all. They had both gone in for the examinations, which had been uncomfortable enough (though it had given Peter a new sense of appreciation for what women had to go through on a regular basis). And now the doctor had called them back in to discuss the results.

And Peter was nervous as hell. He tried to keep it in because he knew that El was just as nervous. They sat in the two chairs in front of Doctor Henderson's desk and El held Peter's hand in her lap. He wondered if some of his suspects felt like this when they sat in interrogation, waiting for an agent to come talk to them. God, how he wished he could do an interrogation right now, or chase down a suspect, or even staple a bunch of reports. Anything he could be in control of. Anything he knew how to do.

Finally, Doctor Henderson came in and took a seat. At the very least, he came right to it. "So, I have good and bad news. The good news is there is nothing wrong with either one of you. Nothing we can detect at the moment anyway."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, and he and El exchanged a quick hopeful smile.

"The bad news is if you were hoping for a clear diagnosis as to why you haven't been able to get pregnant, I can't give you one."

"What does that mean?" El asked.

"It means that how our bodies work or don't work is sometimes unpredictable, even cruel from our perspective. It could mean that it's going to happen on its own time or not at all. Sometimes we just can't tell why that is," Henderson replied.

He wasn't unsympathetic. In fact, he gave them a kind smile. Still, Peter felt slightly annoyed. Even if doctors didn't give you bad news, they basically gave you no news at all.

If El felt the same way, she didn't show it. "So what do we do?"

"Well, you have a couple of options. I could prescribe you Chlomid, which is a drug to stimulate egg production. If that doesn't work, you could try IVF, which can be a complicated process and sometimes financially and emotionally challenging. That is not to say that it's not a valid option. But it's important to understand it fully before you decide to do it. I can give you some information on it, and if you do decide to go down that road, you should come back in so we can talk about it in greater detail."

Henderson handed them a couple of flyers that were bright in color and naturally had babies on them. To Peter, it looked a little bit like a trick.

Perhaps, to Henderson, too. He leaned back in his chair. "If that's not what you want, all I can tell you is not to overthink this. I know it sounds silly and not at all helpful, but for some people all the brilliant medicine that we have at our disposal isn't as useful as to just let go and relax. Have sex when you actually want to have sex, love each other, and let mother nature do her thing."

Peter wasn't sure what to make of that advice. It didn't sound like something you needed to go to medical school for, but at the same time it felt like the one thing in this entire conversation that made the most sense.

They thanked Doctor Henderson for his time, and since they had taken this meeting during lunch, they both had to go back to work. There was no time to discuss what Doctor Henderson had told them, and so Peter had no idea what El was thinking right now. Then again, he didn't really know what he was thinking either.

They didn't really get to talk until they were settled on the couch that night.

"Did you read the information Doctor Henderson gave us?" El asked him then.

"I did." He had done it while sitting in his parked car because he was not about to read that at his desk where anyone could see and try to make it their business. Peter hadn't even talked to his dad about any of it. He felt like this was only between El and him. This was their family they were talking about. They didn't need any other advice or opinions, no matter how well-meaning. It was hard enough to figure this out as it was.

"What did you think?"

"I..." He didn't know what to tell her. 'Emotionally challenging,' as Henderson had put it, now sounded like an understatement. Peter couldn't even imagine putting El through all those injections that she would have to administer herself and then surgery again and again, though those were considered minor. His part in all this, ejaculating into a cup, seemed like a bad joke in comparison. And then the waiting if the embryo would take...

"I don't think it's what I want," El said before Peter had formulated an actual sentence. "I mean, it's a lot of money, and we just bought a house."

Peter's eyebrows shot up in surprise. That part hadn't been on his mind at all. "Honey, if you want to try this, it's not about the money..."

"I know. But it's still a lot – money and pressure. I don't think I can do that if it might not work in the end."

She didn't say it, but Peter had a feeling that she was a little afraid of putting that much strain on them. That wasn't what worried him, but there was only so much of her pain he could take.

"Maybe it's just what it is. Maybe it's not meant to be," El continued.

Peter reached out for her hand. "Or maybe it is. Like Doctor Henderson said. On its own time. We can just keep trying the old-fashioned way." He had always liked that one the best anyway.

"Yes, of course," El nodded, but Peter could tell that her hope that this was just going to happen for them like it did for other couples was gone. He had no idea how to give that back to her.

"I guess we could probably still get out of buying the house," he said, not because he wanted to, but because El had always seemed scared of having too much empty space and he didn't want to make matters worse.

El shook her head, though. "No, we both still love the house, right?"

Peter gave a quick nod.

"Then we're moving. I'd like to feel like something's working out for us."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I have a great house and the most amazing wife. So I must have done something right," Peter replied and put an arm around her.

El rested her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. "Yes, you have."

* * *

Still, going on with their life wasn't as easy as it used to be. In the early days of their relationship they had fallen into a rhythm that had come naturally to them, as if it was simply meant to be. As if _they_ were meant to be.

Now, their rhythm was still there. It was just ever so slightly knocked off its axis. At least, that's how it felt to Peter when he looked at El.

She got out of bed, kissed him good morning, and went to work. She was beautiful and alive and she smiled. But it never reached her eyes. And it broke Peter's heart that he couldn't fix it. The only thing he could do was love her, love her more than ever, because if it was just the two of them for now or perhaps ever, well, then he had just that much more love to give to her.

The relief when El finally seemed to realize and accept that as well was as palpable as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest.

So Peter was somewhat unprepared when his wife greeted him with a kiss and a smile when he came home one evening. He had been toying with the idea of proposing a proper date night again and he thought today might be the day.

But then El said, "I'm thinking about going up to the Hamptons tomorrow."

"Um, you're what?" Peter asked, stunned.

"Sally called. She wanted to ask if they could use some of the pictures from our wedding for a new brochure for the Seaside Inn. We talked, and she mentioned that they're having back-to-back weddings at the inn right now, and then she suggested that I could come up there and help."

There were so many things about that statement that seemed questionable to Peter, but he went with the most obvious one. "What about work?"

"I already called in sick," El replied with a shrug of her shoulders as if it was nothing. She probably saw the look on his face then (as much as he tried not to be the FBI agent who liked to play by the rules). She added more seriously, "I just really need to do something I'm excited about."

Again, Peter asked the first thing that came to mind. "Without me?"

El ran a finger along the lines of his face. "No, honey. It's not that I don't want to have you with me, but if you call in sick, too, we'll have the FBI on our tail."

She was kidding, but it became clear to Peter that she was serious about this whole thing. He didn't feel good about her wanting to leave, but he was not going to stop her if this was something she really wanted to do – or needed to do. "How long are you staying?" was all he asked.

"I don't know. But we've already packed up most of the apartment, and we can't really pack up the rest until the move, so I've got some time."

Peter didn't like the idea of El taking time away from him, but if he made her feel bad about it, it wouldn't help either one of them. "Okay, well, say hello to Sally for me, and tell her not to use any of those pictures where I make a funny face."

El laughed. "Thanks, honey," she said, leaning in for a quick kiss.

Peter couldn't help himself and he held her close to him for a moment. "Just don't stay too long," he said.

Perhaps this wasn't a bad thing after all because El was already in a good mood. Her eyes sparkled when she asked, "Will you come and get me if I do?"

"You know I will."

"Good."

It had been a joke, or it had meant to be one, but next Saturday, Peter actually found himself driving up to the Hamptons. He wasn't going to bring El home – unless she wanted him to, of course – he just missed her. She hadn't called since the day she had gone up there when she had let him know that she had arrived safely. And now Peter had faced a free weekend without his wife in an apartment that was all packed up in boxes, and he had seen no point in pretending he wanted that.

In fact, the apartment was such a mess that Peter had secretly begun to suspect that it had been at least part of the reason why El had left.

He couldn't wait to move into the new house. He couldn't wait for his wife to come home. He couldn't wait not to feel broken anymore. He couldn't wait for a lot of things.

The Seaside Inn was abuzz with activity. Peter recognized the organized chaos from the hours leading up to his own wedding. He tried not to get in the way, and it was mere coincidence that he almost ran right into Sally when he entered the inn.

"Oh, Peter! How nice to see you! I didn't know you were coming."

Peter was glad that he hadn't actually run into Sally because she was clearly pregnant, which probably explained why she had invited El to come and help in the first place. It also explained why El hadn't said a word about it.

"Neither does my wife. I was hoping to surprise her," Peter told her. "And congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you," Sally replied, resting a hand on her belly. "And I think it's very nice that you came, but you'll have to track down Elizabeth by yourself. Last time I saw her, she was somewhere out back. I trust you still know the way."

Peter thanked her and made his way out onto the patio. Then he stopped and smiled because he didn't need FBI training to find his wife. She was standing right there in a bright red dress on the immaculately trimmed lawn, yelling at people. Well, not so much yelling as directing them.

Where to put the flowers, how many rows of chairs there should be, not to bring out the champagne yet so it wouldn't get warm, at what time to call the DJ to ask him when he would get here... Watching her like this, Peter wondered how hard it must have been for El not to do any of this at their own wedding.

He hadn't meant to distract her, but she spotted him eventually and hurried over to him. "Honey! What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see you," Peter replied simply.

El smiled and gave him a quick kiss. "Me too, hon, but I'm sorry, I..." She gestured at the wedding preparations that continued all around them.

"You have work to do. I can see that," Peter nodded. "Anything I can do?"

"You want to help?" El arched an eyebrow.

"Why not? I would have helped at our wedding if they had let me."

El laughed, and then she found him something to do.

It was an interesting experience to watch a wedding come together from the sidelines. At some point, Peter spotted the groom and he remembered everything he had felt in those final moments as an unmarried man. He wouldn't go back, though, not for anything.

When the ceremony started, he stayed in the back because he didn't really know where his place was since he wasn't a guest and didn't actually work for the hotel. Eventually, El found him and led him away from all of it.

"Don't you need to keep telling people what to do?" Peter teased her.

"If they need me to tell them to say 'I do,' all of this will probably have been for nothing anyway," she replied with a chuckle. "And Sally can handle it."

Peter could hear and smell the ocean before he could see it. El had brought them down to the beach, which was perfectly empty now that everyone was at the wedding.

"I saw Sally earlier. She looks good," he said, leaving it up to El whether she wanted to talk about the fact that Sally was pregnant or not.

"Oh, she looks great! I'm so happy for her," El replied easily and with a genuine smile. "She offered me her job, you know."

No, he most certainly hadn't known that. And Peter's relief that El seemed so much more at ease, so much more like herself, vanished instantly.

"She can't keep doing this for much longer, with or without help. And she said she and Mr. Salinger would give me the job in a heartbeat," El continued.

"What did you say?" Peter asked with his 'professional FBI agent' poker face on, because he was secretly trying to figure out in record time how he could be supportive of El even though he hated the idea of only seeing her on weekends. Not just hated it, he was scared of it. Scared that she was giving up on more than just having a baby.

El looked at him with her best 'I'm not fooled by your poker face' expression. "Relax, honey, I said no. We're about to move into a beautiful new home, and I want to live there with you, not commute back and forth between Brooklyn and the Hamptons."

Peter nodded and squeezed her hand. He was relieved, but he didn't dare say anything yet, and he was right to because El continued.

"But, honey, I do want to quit my job," she confessed. "I never wanted to be a manager at an art gallery forever. I was planning on not going back after the baby... which isn't turning out that way, I guess. But I feel like if I'm ever going to do my own thing, I need to do it now."

That actually wasn't as big a surprise to Peter as he had thought, especially not after watching El earlier. He had felt that something had shifted, that she had found whatever she had come up here to find. It was just a matter of when she was going to tell him. "So, you're saying it's time for that art studio you always dreamed of?" he asked.

El stared at him in amazement. "You remember that? We haven't talked about that since..."

"...our first date," Peter said. No matter how much time passed, he wasn't likely to forget anything about those first dates when he had still treated every piece of information like the key to solving the most important case of his life.

El smiled at him warmly. "Well, that was originally my friend's dream, and I couldn't possibly run an art studio now. I was thinking more along the lines of an event planning business. Not just weddings. Those are wonderful, but I do have an art background and I know a lot of businesses in New York. I've been to so many black-tie events that could have been handled better. I think that's something I could do. Something I would love to do, actually."

She paused and looked out at the ocean for a moment while the wind played with her dress and kept blowing her hair into her face. Peter wished she could see how beautiful she looked. "I know it's a risk and really bad timing because we just bought the house..."

He decided to stop her there by pushing her unruly hair back behind her ears. "Honey, you've been taking a risk in loving an FBI agent since the day we met. I think you know that I would risk anything for you, but this isn't a risk," he said, smiling at her. "I think it's a great idea. It sounds just like you, El, and I know you'll be perfect at it."

"Do you really? Don't just say that because you love me!" El demanded.

Peter laughed softly. "I do love you, and I want you to be happy, but yes, I would think so, regardless."

"I am happy," El said, the look in her eyes becoming gentle and thoughtful. "I haven't said that a lot lately, have I?"

"We both haven't," Peter replied.

"Well, I'm doing it now." El laced her fingers through his. "I still want to have a baby, but even if that's never going to happen, I could never be unhappy as long as I have you."

Part of him had always known that, but it was good to hear nevertheless. Peter lifted their intertwined hands to his lips. "Does that mean you're coming home with me?"

El made a face.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," he chuckled.

"I was just thinking of all those boxes. It's not much of a home right now."

"It will be again soon. And we will have enough room for you to work out of the house at first. We could turn one of the rooms upstairs into an office," Peter suggested.

El's eyes lit up – either because of the chance to pick out new curtains or because her new dream of running her own business was just becoming a little more real. Possibly both. "I would probably try to meet with clients elsewhere, but they might have to come to the house sometimes," she mused. "Would that be okay with you?"

Peter frowned. "Can I vet them first?"

"Are you afraid I might get attacked over an argument about which wine to serve?"

"Only because I have learned from my very smart wife that choosing the right wine is of vital importance for every meal."

El gave him a wicked little grin. "Sounds like you married up."

"You're telling me!" Peter replied without hesitation and pulled her into his arms for a kiss.

Cheers and applause drifted over to them from the inn. The ceremony must have ended, and apparently, they had both said yes.

"I guess your first wedding was a success," Peter said.

El smiled against his lips. "I know for a fact that it was," she whispered before she kissed him back.

And Peter knew they would be whole again.


	21. Puppy Dog Eyes

Peter's phone rang.

Elizabeth glanced at it and then shook her head at Peter. "Don't answer that!" she threatened.

Her husband gave her a helpless look. "Honey, you know I have to."

He picked up the phone and Elizabeth listened to the same one-sided conversation she had listened to hundreds of times by now. They varied in length and urgency, but they almost always ended with…

"I'll be there as fast as I can." Peter hung up the phone and turned around with that look that was half guilt-ridden and half 'Well, what can I do?'. "I'll make it quick," he promised her.

"You always say that." She was being moody, but Elizabeth thought she had a right to be.

They were currently standing in their new living room that absolutely wasn't ready to be lived in yet. There were boxes everywhere and the dinner table and the couch were wrapped in plastic because they were still painting a few of the walls. But they would never get that done today if Peter had to take off now to go to work.

"Well, honey, I can't just quit my job, too, if we want to be able to keep paying for this house."

Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly when that little jab caught her by surprise. Not as much, though, as it did Peter.

His face crumpled. "El, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Elizabeth raised a hand before either one of them could get worked up. "No, you're right. I decided to quit my job, so I can't make you feel bad about doing yours. Just go. I'll try to find something useful to do while you're gone."

Peter nodded and leaned in for a kiss. "Love you, honey."

"Love you, too. Now go!" Elizabeth shooed him out the door.

Watching Peter leave had never been the favorite part of her day. By quitting her job, she had inadvertently signed on to doing just that. At least, until her own business became more than a fixed idea in her head. The first step was to actually become a certified event planner. Right now, Elizabeth was reading up on the business licenses she would need and studying for the exam she was waiting to take.

Of course, those weren't the only things on her to-do list. She had a whole house that waited to be turned into a home. But Elizabeth didn't want to keep painting on her own. She decided to finish up in the kitchen. Most of the boxes here were already unpacked because she needed to be able to cook, and the rest didn't take her long.

Then she went upstairs into the master bedroom where they had already put together most of the closet. Elizabeth managed to put the finishing touches to it on her own, so she could then unpack all of their clothes before they would start to wrinkle. Once that was done, she sat down on the mattress that currently served as their bed. They had decided to get a new one and it hadn't been delivered yet, so they had to make do for now. It had sounded romantic until they had discovered that having sex on an air mattress was, well, interesting.

The house was perfectly quiet. Big and quiet. Elizabeth sighed when she realized that it was always going to be like this. If her business took off, she would eventually have a real office to go to. But event planning wasn't a nine-to-five office job. That was one of the things she liked about it. It also meant, however, that she was going to be alone in this house a lot.

At least, Peter kept his word and was home before dinner. Elizabeth made a simple pasta dish which they ate at the kitchen island since the table was still under wraps.

"We can't finish painting now that it's getting dark, but we could put up a few shelves," Peter suggested.

Elizabeth reached for her wine glass. "I was thinking we could just sit out on the patio for a while, drink some more wine." Sometimes it felt to her as if that was the only reason why she had wanted the house. So she could sit out there with her wonderful husband and enjoy a peaceful evening under the stars.

Peter smiled as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "I thought you wanted to get everything done. No slacking."

"I know, but to be honest, I'm still getting used to the house and not going to work. It was a little lonely today," she admitted.

Sipping his beer, Peter looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe it's time we get that dog."

Elizabeth lowered her fork in surprise. "You mean the one that's taller than Mr. Cuddles?" she asked, remembering her meeting with the woman who had walked her poodle outside their house.

"Well, probably not right away but eventually yes," Peter said.

"I always thought we would have a dog one day," Elizabeth realized when her initial surprise had faded. Of course, she had also thought that they would have a child. But at least, her body couldn't betray her when it came to getting a puppy.

Peter nodded. "We just never had the time to actually walk a dog."

"I have time now," Elizabeth said. Actually, she had way more time than she had anticipated.

"And if you have an event at night, I can make sure to be home to watch him," Peter said.

"Or _her._ Either way, we would have to train the dog to be alone for a few hours at a time. But that shouldn't be a problem. The house is big enough, right?"

"Big enough to warrant getting a dog to protect you when I'm not home."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't want a watchdog."

"What kind of dog do you want?" Peter asked.

She hesitated, not sure if she should say what she was thinking, but everything that was in her heart she shared with her husband. "I want a dog that's good with people and families and... kids. A dog that has as much love to give as we do."

Peter reached out to put his hand on hers. "I'm sure we can find a dog like that – and one that is tall enough to at least scare the likes of Mr. Cuddles."

Elizabeth smiled. "So... we're getting a dog?"

"We're getting a dog," Peter replied with a grin.

Feeling a new kind of energy and enthusiasm, Elizabeth got up and was about to carry their empty plates over to the sink. Peter stopped her by holding on to her hand.

"About what I said earlier before I left for work... El, you know I support your decision one hundred percent, right?"

Elizabeth almost laughed because he was making puppy dog eyes at her. Clearly, they had talked too much about dogs. But she didn't need assurances or apologies. She knew Peter was all in on this with her. There was no other way, really, because not only was Elizabeth not making any money right now, they would have to invest money first so she could hopefully, eventually, make some again. That was a lot to ask. Especially of a trained accountant who liked to keep their books in order. But Peter had never even batted an eye.

His confidence in her meant everything to Elizabeth. It meant that she didn't question herself when she felt like a failed college student while she studied for her certificate. It stopped her from feeling guilty about making Peter carry the lone burden of providing for them financially. And it made her discover ever new ways of falling in love with this man.

She used her free hand to caress his cheek and leaned in to kiss him with as much feeling as she could express without words. When she let go of his lips again, Peter was smiling, as if he understood perfectly. "Yes, hon, and I never thought you wouldn't," she said for good measure.

They spent the rest of the night looking up dog breeds and different breeders in the area of New York. There were lots to choose from, obviously. For Elizabeth, it was strangely satisfying that all of this was up to her and Peter. They could choose to just go out and get a puppy tomorrow. Sure, they had to get a couple of things and make a few preparations, but there was no need for making a schedule or taking drugs or tests. They weren't at the mercy of a biological process that supposedly was the easiest thing in the world and yet proved frustratingly complicated. They were willing to fall in love with a dog and somewhere out there was a puppy willing to love them back.

That kind of thinking delivered them right to the doorstep of a New Yorker breeder of Labrador Retrievers. It hadn't taken them very long to decide on that breed. According to all the experts, they were loyal, fun- and people-loving, energetic dogs that liked to cuddle, were easy to groom and perfectly lovable. And they were big enough to qualify as 'real dogs' in Peter's eyes.

And it so happened that this breeder had a litter of puppies that were eight weeks old and ready to be adopted into new homes.

"Are you nervous? I'm nervous," Peter said when they walked up to the front door.

Elizabeth smiled. She loved him for saying that because yes, she was nervous, too. "We better not mention that our house is a mess right now."

Really, they should have waited until the house was ready. But lately, they had done nothing but wait. They simply didn't want to wait anymore.

Peter rang the doorbell and right away dogs started barking inside the house. "How do we choose?" he asked.

"I don't know. I have never done this before either."

"Yes, but don't tell me you haven't read at least three different articles about this," Peter said, giving her a knowing look.

Okay, yes, of course she had. She had also ordered five books on how to actually raise and train a dog. "I still don't think this is something you can decide on paper," Elizabeth replied.

The door opened and the woman they had spoken with on the phone smiled at them. "You must be Peter and Elizabeth. I'm Joanne, oh, and this is Maya," she introduced herself and the black Lab that appeared at her side.

"Is she the mother?" Elizabeth asked after they had said hello and stepped inside the house.

"Yes. The little rascals are out in the back yard. They are a handful, so Maya likes to get away from them and be by herself every now and then. She knows it's time for them to stand on their own paws. Anyway, prepare yourselves," Joanne said as she opened the door to the yard.

But there was no preparing for ten very excited, super nosy, and extremely playful puppies. Immediately, they decided that Peter and Elizabeth were now the most interesting thing in the entire back yard. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Some of the puppies had yellow coats and some were black like their mother. They all looked adorable. That was the only thing Elizabeth could tell at first.

"There are so many of them!" she said, taking a step back while Peter was being overrun by four of them.

"Oh yes, Maya always has big litters," Joanne nodded.

Amazed, Elizabeth looked at the female Labrador and crouched down next to her to scratch her ears. She couldn't imagine giving birth to ten kids.

Then again, she had failed to conceive even one.

Elizabeth yelped when one of the puppies practically jumped into her lap. She had been too focused on the mother to see it coming. This one was a yellow one with big, beady eyes and a soft, cold nose that he pressed into her stomach – while he happily began to chew on her dress.

She was wearing a wrap dress that tied at her waist with a little bow. In hindsight, not the smartest choice for meeting a litter of curious puppies. But it was too late now. One end of the bow was already in the puppy's mouth. If she wasn't careful, this little guy would undress her right there.

"Oh, no, no, no, you won't!" Elizabeth said and picked up the little puppy and lifted him in the air away from her dress.

"That one's a boy," Joanne supplied helpfully, but Elizabeth had already guessed as much.

Peter guffawed. "I like him. He thinks like me."

Elizabeth was about to shoot her husband a look when the puppy's little tongue lashed out and he started licking her face vigorously.

Peter laughed even harder while Elizabeth instinctively closed her eyes at first. But then she opened them again and looked at the puppy she was still holding in her hands. He seemed to cock his head a little and looked right back at her, wagging his tail once, twice, as if asking a question.

And Elizabeth's heart answered by melting completely.

Peter had stopped laughing. "I think we just fell in love," he said to Joanne.

"I think the feeling is mutual," Joanne agreed.

Elizabeth didn't really know what to say, but when Peter sat down next to her, she smiled and handed the puppy to him.

At first, he handled the little dog like he was made of glass and could break right there in his hands. But the puppy kept wagging his tail, let out a little bark, and started chewing on Peter's tie. Peter tried to get him to stop, which the puppy saw absolutely no reason to do, and they ended up in a bit of a wrestling match.

It was hard to tell who enjoyed it more.

Elizabeth felt like she might tear up and quickly stood to turn to Joanne. "We'll take him."

The drive home was both wonderful and a little sad. Peter was driving and Elizabeth was holding the little puppy in her lap. Now that he had realized that he was to leave his mother and siblings behind and venture out into the unknown, he had lost some of his courage and started whining. Joanne had given them his blanket so he could at least keep the smell of home with him for a while, and Elizabeth had wrapped him in it. She tried to soothe him by talking to him and petting him, but he didn't seem to like the car ride at all.

"He needs a name," Peter said, helping to distract Elizabeth from the miserable puppy in her lap. "Maybe we should call him Chewie because he likes to chew on things."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "All dogs like to chew on stuff."

"Well, he also sounds a little bit like Chewbacca right now."

"Not funny," Elizabeth said and pressed a kiss to the top of the puppy's head. He licked her nose once in thanks but didn't stop whimpering.

"Okay, how about Mick or Mickey?"

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "As in Mouse?"

"Sure, that too."

"There was a Yankees guy with that name, wasn't there?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter kept his eyes on the road, but he grinned. "Mickey Mantle, famous centerfielder and first basemen."

"Yeah, then no," Elizabeth said.

"Comet?" Peter suggested.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. "That's still about baseball, isn't it?"

"What does it matter if you don't even know?" Peter teased.

"What does it matter if we named him Red Sox?" Elizabeth countered.

Peter raised his hands in defeat when they stopped at a red light. "Okay, honey, I hear you. What would you like to name him?"

She thought about it for a few minutes. "How about Satchmo?"

Her husband chuckled. "I could argue that it's not fair that I don't get to name him after a baseball guy, but you get to name him after a jazz guy. But I guess I always knew this was coming."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked.

"Our third date. ,The' date. You told me you liked jazz and dogs. So there you go," Peter replied.

Elizabeth smirked. "Did you just use air quotes to refer to us having sex for the first time?"

"I didn't know if we were allowed to talk about it in front of him."

"I don't think he knows what that is."

Peter gave her a lop-sided grin. "I'm not so sure. He seemed to know exactly how to open your dress earlier. If I had gotten away with that on the very first day we met..."

Elizabeth swatted at him and then bent down to the puppy in her lap. "Don't listen to any of that, Satchmo."

He lifted his ears a little and cocked his head, as if listening was exactly what he was trying to do.

"Guess he likes the name," Peter said, smiling at her. "Or your voice."

Elizabeth smiled back at him. "Hopefully, he'll like his new home, too. Once it's done, anyway."

"I know. I'll get back to it as soon as we're home. If he's okay with the noise, that is," Peter said, glancing questioningly at Satchmo.

"I guess we'll find out," Elizabeth shrugged. "I guess we'll find out a lot of things about dogs."

"Yeah, if he wasn't right there, I'd have a hard time believing this happened so fast."

Elizabeth grimaced when she suddenly felt her legs get warm – and wet. "Oh, believe it, honey, because he just peed on me."

"What?" Peter's eyes darted towards her legs. "No, Satchmo, not in my car!"

"Oh, so you're fine with him peeing on your wife but not on your upholstery?" Elizabeth asked with her eyebrows raised.

"Why do I feel like there's no right answer to that?"

"Just drive faster."

* * *

The house was finally coming along and beginning to look like a home – which was good because Satchmo would chew on everything he could find. That was still a little bit funny when it was one of Peter's case files, but it became slightly annoying when it was a pillow, borderline upsetting when it was one of Elizabeth's shoes, and downright dangerous when it was a nail or a bucket filled with paint. Perhaps he was a Chewie after all.

He also was an attention hog. That day when Elizabeth had felt lonely in the house while Peter was at work? She could barely even remember it anymore. Now, Satchmo was constantly begging for her attention. She had to stop him from doing anything stupid (or dangerous), she had to take him out for a walk, she had to teach him how to walk on a leash, she had to mop up his pee when she didn't let him out in time, she had to take him to obedience school, and even when he was sleeping, she felt like she needed to check on him to make sure he was still sleeping.

And Satchmo's sleeping arrangements presented them with a whole bunch of other problems. He was used to sleeping with his brothers and sisters and dogs were pack animals, so neither Peter nor Elizabeth found it in them to force the little guy to sleep alone downstairs at night. So they carried him upstairs (he wasn't allowed to climb stairs yet), where he was supposed to sleep on his own blanket. But of course, he always ended up on the air mattress with them at some point during the night.

Finally, their new bed arrived. It was quite a bit higher above the ground than the air mattress had been and so they managed to convince Satchmo to stay down on his blanket. Having a puppy in bed with them might be cute now, but he wouldn't always stay a puppy. So that's where Elizabeth drew the line. And Satchmo seemed okay with it as long as he was still sleeping right next to their bed.

Only he wasn't necessarily sleeping. Elizabeth had been looking forward to making proper use of the fact that they now had a bed that couldn't deflate anymore. But that night, after a couple of promising kisses to get them in the mood, Peter rolled off of her again.

"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, resting a hand on his chest.

He huffed. "I can't do this right now."

"Why not?"

"Because I can feel him staring at me."

Elizabeth frowned and raised her head. Satchmo was sitting bolt upright on his blanket, and when he saw her looking at him, he wagged his tail happily. Elizabeth couldn't help herself and burst out laughing.

"Oh, honey, he is still just a dog," she said.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Yeah? You try it then."

Elizabeth swung one leg over her husband to get on top of him and started kissing her way down his collarbone. But now she could hear Satchmo panting loudly, getting faster at the same time her kisses did.

She sat up and looked at the puppy again. "Satch, go to sleep!"

Satchmo cocked his head and wagged his tail even harder.

With a deep sigh, Elizabeth collapsed on her husband's chest. It was ridiculous, but she couldn't do it either.

Peter chuckled, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. "I love you, hon."

Satchmo barked once.

"You too, Satchmo."

* * *

The next day Elizabeth was cleaning up and doing laundry, always with Satchmo on her heels. All the books that said that puppies needed lots of sleep must have not been talking about Labrador Retrievers. Elizabeth was glad that Satchmo had so much happy energy, but right now, she was waiting for him to finally take a nap so she could put away the fresh laundry. Since Satchmo wasn't allowed to climb the stairs yet, they only carried him up to the bedroom when it was time to go to bed. Otherwise, he was supposed to stay downstairs. But with him following her around all day, that was a bit of a problem.

Since taking a nap didn't seem to be on the agenda today, Elizabeth switched tactics. She gave Satchmo a big treat, grabbed her laundry basket, and quietly started to sneak up the stairs. As soon as she got too far away from him, though, Satchmo grabbed his treat and, carrying it in his mouth, he followed her and attempted to climb the stairs after her.

"No, Satchmo, stay!"

He wagged his tail and looked up at her happily.

"No, Satch, you have to stay down there. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Satchmo sat back down, but as soon as she lifted a foot, he did the same.

Elizabeth huffed. "You have no idea what I want from you, do you?"

He just kept looking at her intently. Puppy dog eyes, indeed.

"Fine, just don't tell anyone about this," Elizabeth said, grabbed the basket and the dog and brought both of them upstairs with her.

Satchmo ran right over to his blanket and after he had finished his treat, Elizabeth gave him a new toy to keep him occupied. Miraculously, that worked, and for a while, Elizabeth sat on the bed, folding her laundry in peace, while Satchmo made happy squeaky sounds with his toy.

When the room went suddenly quiet, Elizabeth reacted too late.

"Satch?"

She heard the clicking of his paws on the floor and then he was gone.

"Please don't find a new spot to pee on," Elizabeth muttered while she got up to follow the little rascal.

She couldn't find him at first, and her heart started racing when she thought he might have taken a tumble down the stairs. Then she saw that the door to the small bedroom was ajar. She had no idea how that had happened. There was nothing in that room except for a few unpacked boxes, just some stuff that they had wanted to get out of the way. Perhaps Peter had put something in there this morning and had forgotten to close the door.

Elizabeth didn't like to go into that room, but now she had no other choice. Sure enough, Satchmo was in there – and he was busy peeing into a corner.

"Satchmo!" Elizabeth sighed and got towels and a cloth from the bathroom to clean it up.

When she was on her knees, scrubbing, Satchmo watched her from a safe distance.

"You're lucky there's nothing in here, mister, or you'd be in serious trouble," Elizabeth told him. "Of course, there probably won't ever be anything in here. Just a big old empty room, filled with nothing at all, except all the love we will never get to give a child of our own..." She dropped the cloth and sat back when she could feel her throat close up and the tears coming. Dammit, she hadn't meant to let her thoughts go there, and now she had dog pee and cleaning solution on her hands and couldn't even wipe her eyes. All she could do was sit here and feel defeated by a room in her own house.

Suddenly, she felt Satchmo's paws on her thighs. He had dared to come back over to her. First, he put his front paws on her legs and then on her chest when he hoisted himself up on his hind legs. Now tall enough to reach her face, he started licking up her tears.

That only brought on more tears at first, but then her tears turned into laughter. "Are you trying to tell me I shouldn't be crying?"

Satchmo wagged his tail.

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "You're right. I shouldn't. I might not have this room, but I have you and Peter, and I couldn't love you more. My beautiful boys." She hugged him then for as long as Satchmo let her before he started to squirm and wiggle his way out of her arms.

She laughed, finished cleaning up the mess, and then closed the door behind her.

* * *

Later that day, Elizabeth was sitting on the floor in the living room, playing with Satchmo, when his ears suddenly perked up. She tried to listen for whatever had caught his attention and she could make out the faint rattling of keys outside the door.

"What's that, Satchmo?" she asked him with a big smile on her face.

The puppy looked at her, quivering with excitement, but not quite sure what to do.

"Is that your daddy coming home? Yes, go say hi to daddy!"

The door opened and Satchmo shot off like a bolt of lightning, jumping up at Peter's legs like the furry bouncy ball that he was.

"Woah, hey there, Satchmo. Slow down, boy. Yes, I've missed you too." Peter dropped a case file he had been carrying so he could have his hands free to cuddle his dog. Something small and green fell out of that file and slid across the floor, catching Satchmo's immediate attention.

"Satchmo, no! That's evidence!" Peter yelled when the puppy started chasing after the mysterious object.

Since it was coming right at her, Elizabeth was faster and managed to pick it up before it could end up in Satchmo's mouth or, even worse, his stomach.

"Thanks, honey," Peter said, kissing her thanks and hello at the same time.

Elizabeth frowned when she saw what she was holding in her hand. "Since when do lollipops qualify as evidence?"

"Since it's proof of me being the worst FBI agent in the history of the Bureau," Peter replied glumly.

"What? Why? What happened?" Elizabeth asked, putting the lollipop down on the dinner table, so she could rest her hand on Peter's arm instead.

Her husband heaved a sigh. "Do you remember those fake Atlantic Incorporated bonds I showed you the other day?"

"Yes, the ones you were so impressed with because the guy who forged them was a real expert."

"Right, well, he cashed them in at a bank in Midtown," Peter told her.

"But isn't that good? Doesn't that help you catch him?" Elizabeth asked.

"Theoretically, yes, if I hadn't just let him walk."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I had no idea who the hell he was. I was at the bank to tell them to watch out for him trying to do exactly that, but it turns out I was too late. He had already been inside and then he came to talk to me, pretending to be worried about the money he had in the bank. I told him it was fine, he thanked me for my work, gave me the lollipop, and left."

"He gave you a lollipop?"

"Yup."

Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip as hard as she could to keep from laughing, but the look on Peter's face told her she wasn't doing a very good job.

"You think it's funny. My failure is amusing you," he complained.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said, running her hand up and down his arm. "But you have to admit it's a little bit funny."

"He's a criminal and I let him walk, El. There's nothing funny about that," Peter protested.

"Okay, but you couldn't have known what he looked like or that he would be brazen enough to talk to you like that. I'm sure... oh, Satchmo, no!"

They had ignored the little puppy for too long and so he had gone straight for the one thing he wasn't supposed to, namely the file Peter had dropped onto the floor earlier. Quickly, they scooped up the file and the pages that had fallen out of it and handed Satchmo his squeaky toy instead.

"Wait, is that what this guy looks like?" Elizabeth asked when she realized that she was holding a sketch in her hand.

"Yes, why?" Peter asked after taking it from her to put it back in the file.

"Nothing," Elizabeth said, quickly turning away from him and heading for the kitchen. "I should get started on dinner."

Peter followed her. "That's not what you were going to say."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yes, you were. What was it?" Peter turned her around and effectively pinned her against the kitchen counter.

Elizabeth chuckled. "I feel like I should plead the Fifth on this one."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "You think he's hot."

"Well... either that or he has very symmetrical cheekbones."

Peter groaned. "Great, now my wife thinks he's funny and attractive."

Elizabeth laughed and gave him a light kiss. "Look at it this way, hon. You can just add that to the list of offenses when you arrest him."

"Oh, believe me, I will." Peter removed his hands from her sides so she could move freely about the kitchen again. "Did you two have a good day at least?"

"We had a little mishap earlier, but I think we both learned from it," Elizabeth replied while she heated up the oven.

"So, he looked at you with those big brown eyes and you forgave him?" Peter guessed.

Elizabeth smiled. "Something like that."

"I'm sorry you have to deal with all that stuff by yourself while I'm at work, honey."

"Actually, since you brought it up… there's this lecture on starting your own business that I would like to go to. It's next Tuesday, but we have an appointment at the vet that morning. So I was hoping you could take Satchmo."

"To the vet?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, you could still be at work by eleven at the latest," Elizabeth assured him.

Peter still looked hesitant. "Couldn't we simply reschedule the vet?"

"Honey, you know there's a schedule for these kinds of vaccinations. It's important to stick to it. And you just said you wanted to help out with Satchmo."

"I was thinking of cleaning up after him, not scaring him into hating me."

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "Oh, so you'd prefer that he only hates _me_ for taking him to the vet?"

"Well, you are a lot scarier, hon," Peter said with a wry grin.

"I'm scary? You're the FBI agent!"

"Not in here," Peter replied with a chuckle, pointing at the kitchen they were all standing in – Satchmo being extremely interested in what Elizabeth was making for dinner, but he was still way too small to do anything other than sniff the air with his little nose. Peter bent down to scratch his ears. "If we were to take him together, he could spread the hate equally," he suggested.

Elizabeth shook her head. "You won't even be the real bad guy, the vet is. And Satchmo needs these shots. So I suggest you figure out a way to man up and do this."

"See, I told you, you're scarier," Peter said.

She wanted to shoot him a look, but he had picked up Satchmo, who immediately tried to loosen the knot of Peter's tie with his sharp little teeth, so all Elizabeth could do was laugh.

* * *

"Almost there, Satchmo. Just hold tight and remember that this is not my fault." Peter glanced at the backseat, where he had secured Satchmo in a harness and on a special blanket – just in case there were any more mishaps. The puppy still didn't like driving, and Peter was pretty sure today wouldn't change that.

Thankfully, Satchmo had finally stopped straining against the harness. He had now lowered his head onto his front paws, looking dejected, which was almost worse.

"I'm just following orders, buddy. Something you will need to learn as well. Why? Well, because you're a dog, but you don't want to be in the doghouse with Elizabeth. And neither do I."

Satchmo whined loudly.

"Okay, fine, that wasn't a very good joke. And El is only doing this because she loves you. Well, both of us, but I already had all my shots."

Satchmo didn't seem to find that very reassuring.

Honestly, Peter wouldn't either. Things only got worse when they arrived at the vet. Peter had only just opened the front door when he could hear and smell all the different animals that were already in the waiting room.

"Wow, it smells… intense in here. I don't even want to know what it smells like for you," Peter said and looked down at his dog. But there was no dog at the end of his leash, at least none that he could see, because Satchmo was hiding underneath a nearby table.

Peter bent down to look under the table and was met by two big round eyes and a small furry body that was shaking like a leaf. Heaving a sigh, Peter reached for his phone.

"Honey, he's terrified, and frankly, so am I," he said once El had picked up.

" _Well, of course, he is. You just have to talk to him,"_ she replied well-meaningly but also rather unhelpfully.

"Tried that and now he's hiding under a table. Unless it's an interrogation, I'm not good at it."

" _That's not true, hon."_ Elizabeth sighed. _"What do you want me to do about it now?"_

Peter shrugged, though she couldn't see. "I don't know. Are you really at a lecture? I don't hear anything."

" _Because I stepped outside when you called."_

"I thought you really wanted to hear it. Why answer the phone at all?" Peter asked.

He could practically see Elizabeth roll her eyes. _"Because you always try to pick up the phone, too, when I call you at work. But you know that. So stop interrogating me and quit stalling."_

Now it was Peter's turn to sigh. "I'm just worried that I might screw him up. These are all formative experiences for Satchmo, right? And all he has right now is me."

" _Oh, honey, that's plenty. All he needs to know is that you're going to protect him and love him and make the pain go away. So show him that. Like I know you can,"_ El said gently.

Peter smiled. "I love you, too, hon."

" _I know that. Go tell Satch."_

He hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He hadn't realized that being a dog parent would be this hard. But El was right. He needed to stop being afraid. And it wasn't all scary. It was sort of amazing that he had the power to make this little helpless pup feel better. Or at least not completely alone in his misery. Better start small.

Peter crouched down next to the table to look at Satchmo again. "Okay, let's do this, bud. First rule of having to go see a doctor, there's always something in it for you." He reached into his pocket and held out a treat.

Satchmo's nose began to quiver, and eventually his appetite won out over his suspicion. He robbed out from underneath the table, and when he had inhaled his treat, Peter quickly picked him up and carried him inside the waiting room. He chose a chair that was as far away from the other pets and their owners as possible and sat Satchmo down in his lap. He prayed Satchmo wouldn't take that as an invitation to pee on him. But Peter thought the risk was worth it. He didn't want to set Satchmo down on the floor next to that gigantic Rottweiler or that cat carrier with one very angry cat inside.

The nurse came by to check off their names on her clipboard. "Oh my… Isn't he adorable!"

Satchmo seemed confused as to whether he should like the attention or whether he was still too scared and only wagged his tail half-heartedly.

"We're a little nervous," Peter told the nurse.

"Don't worry. It'll be quick and painless," she promised and scratched Satchmo's ears.

He definitely liked that, but it only lasted until it was time for them to go inside the exam room and meet the vet.

Peter lifted Satchmo onto the exam table and it took all of five seconds for Satchmo to decide that he felt too exposed up there. He flattened his ears and tucked his tail between his legs.

"First time for the both of you?" the vet asked kindly.

"What gave it away?" Peter asked with a dark chuckle.

When the vet came closer, Satchmo pressed his trembling little body against Peter and pushed his nose against Peter's palm, as if hoping there might be a way to disappear in there.

"How about you just tell my wife that you gave him the shot and we can all get away scot-free?" Peter joked.

"I could, but then little Satchmo here would be at risk for getting canine distemper, hepatitis, or parainfluenza."

Peter made a face and tried to level with Satchmo. "You hear that? That sounds bad, and it would break your momma's heart. Plus, getting sick is never as fun as it sounds, even if you think that you could really use the time off work. And you don't even work, so it would be a lose-lose situation for you, buddy. So here's the deal: I need you to be a brave, little guy now, and then you get to…"

"Try this," the vet helped him out when Peter faltered, not sure what to promise Satchmo exactly. The vet handed him a ginormous pig ear. The thing was almost as big as Satchmo's head.

"Wow! Okay. And then you get to eat this thing," Peter finished his little speech.

Satchmo looked as if knowing that treats of that size even exited opened up a whole new world for him. He began to wag his tail again, though it was still tucked between his hind legs, and he licked Peter's face.

"I'll take that as a yes," Peter said and nodded to the vet.

So while he kept distracting Satchmo, the vet examined him to make sure that he was healthy and then gave him the vaccination. Satchmo looked a little affronted at the sudden prick of the needle, but Peter quickly scooped him up so he couldn't dwell on it for too long. And just like that, they were done.

All that carrying him around had clearly given Satchmo the wrong impression, though. Either that or he had a hard time digesting that giant pig ear. When they had driven back home and Peter had parked the car outside the house, Satchmo refused to walk and flopped down on the sidewalk instead. Peter had the good sense to recognize this as one of those teaching moments they kept talking about in obedience school and refrained from simply picking Satchmo up again.

It took them a really long time to get from the car to the house.

When they were finally back inside, it was Peter who plopped down on the couch to lie down. Just for a little bit, he told himself. So he could pretend that taking his dog to the vet for the first time hadn't wiped him out completely.

Satchmo watched him curiously for a moment and then boldly jumped onto the couch as well. Before Peter could tell him no, the puppy had already squeezed himself into the small space between Peter's chest and right arm, burying his nose in his armpit. Peter rested a hand on Satchmo's back and forgot what he had been meaning to say.

When El got home, she found them both passed out on the couch like that. "Did I miss the conversation where we agreed that it was okay for Satchmo to sleep on the couch?" she asked.

Peter blinked up at her, making sure there was a smile on her face. "It wasn't so much a conversation as it was a question of exhaustion."

"Aw, my poor babies," El crooned, her tone a mixture of sympathy and mockery. But she walked over to the couch and bent down to first press a kiss to Peter's lips and then to the top of Satchmo's head. When Satchmo looked up and happily licked El's nose in return, Peter was glad she had chosen to distribute her affection in that order.

"He doesn't seem scarred for life, so I'm guessing it went okay?" she asked, crouching next to the couch so she could keep petting Satchmo.

"Well, I got him out from under the table. We went in. We learned that very small cats can make very angry sounds. We met the vet and decided he was an okay guy when he gave us a giant pig ear. And we almost didn't notice the injection. Then we had a small disagreement over how to get home, but we made it," Peter briefly recounted their morning.

El laughed. "I hope Satchmo was the only one who ate that pig ear."

"Oh yes, he wouldn't share," Peter nodded. "But I figured that's a lesson for another day. Speaking of which, did you learn something at the lecture?"

"Some. They talked about how important it is to choose a good name since it's the first thing that sets a business apart from the competition."

"Got any ideas?"

Elizabeth stopped petting Satchmo, who had happily rolled over, going belly up, and now seemed confused as to why her hand had disappeared. "I was thinking about… Burke Premiere Events. If that's all right with you."

"Why wouldn't it be? It sounds amazing, El. Very professional. I would hire you on the spot," Peter said, meaning every word of it.

El rested a hand on his chest. "Thanks, honey. I'm not sure a glowing recommendation from my husband is very helpful, but I'm glad you think so. Because if I go with Burke Premiere Events, I would put our name on it, and that means if I fail, you would fail with me."

Peter lifted a hand to hold on to El's while Satchmo watched and didn't seem to understand why neither one of those hands was petting him. "I wouldn't have it any other way. I mean, you're not going to fail. But if you were, I wouldn't let you do it alone."

El leaned in to give him another kiss, which got interrupted, however, by Satchmo pushing his nose into their faces.

"Okay, I feel like we really need to set some boundaries here," Peter said, wrinkling his nose.

"You were the one who let him onto the couch, hon," El reminded him.

"Momentary lapse in judgement."

"Otherwise known as falling in love."

Peter furrowed his brow. "I thought I already did that when we first got him."

El just smiled at both of them. "Who says you can't still be falling?"

When he looked into the clear blue of her eyes, Peter's frown eased and was replaced by a dazed little grin. "Right."

Laughing softly, El got back to her feet and headed for the kitchen. "Do you think Satch needs something to eat after that pig ear he had?" she called.

"Not unless you want him to grow to twice his size in one day," Peter replied. "But I wouldn't mind to have lunch with you."

El poked her head around the corner to look at him. "Don't you need to get to work?"

"I think I'll take a sick day."

El's eyebrows shot up. "You do realize that was only his first shot of many, right?" she asked.

Peter quickly put his hands over Satchmo's ears. "Don't tell him that, honey!"

While El just laughed, Satchmo shook his head and jumped off the couch. Wagging his tail so hard that his whole body wiggled with it, he started barking at Peter.

Clearly, naptime was over.

* * *

 **A/N: I took some of this from 'Forging Bonds' with more yet to come, but obviously this was all about adding baby Satchmo to the Burke family. By the way, I love the name. If I were to get a dog, I would totally name him Satchmo. Feel free to leave me a review and tell me your favorite dog name or how you liked this chapter or anything else.** **Until next week.**


	22. Making It Work

One of the perks of having a dog was that there was always someone who was happy to see you. Even almost fully grown, Satchmo still looked like a little puppy, full of childlike joy and anticipation, when he came to the door to greet Peter.

"Hey there, buddy. Did you have a good day?" he asked as he bent down to cuddle his dog.

Of course, Peter had rarely had reason to complain about coming home to an empty house. Lately, things had changed a little. It wasn't unusual to find the downstairs empty except for Satchmo, who clearly had been sleeping on the couch again. The lights were on upstairs, though, so Peter knew that El was home. He also had a pretty good idea what she was doing.

After scratching Satchmo's ears one last time, Peter headed upstairs. Satchmo was now allowed to climb stairs on his own, but he usually preferred to stay in the living room. Now, though, he followed Peter, not wanting to be by himself. Together, they made their way up to the third floor.

This wasn't so much part of the house as it was Burke Premiere Events territory. To no one's surprise, certainly not to Peter's, El had passed the necessary exams and was now a certified event planner and Burke Premiere Events an officially licensed business. The only thing it was missing was an actual office. Prime real estate in New York City was hard to come by and even harder to pay for.

But they had more than enough room right here, and El had done a great job of turning the entire third floor into a tasteful work space that served as an office for her and allowed for her to meet with clients, even if there hadn't been very many yet. It wasn't ideal since the only way to access the third floor was to go through the rest of the house, which meant a hello from Satchmo and a glimpse into their private life. But El poured her heart into every job, so Peter didn't think it was so wrong for her clients to know where it came from.

He smiled when he pushed open the door with the Burke Premiere Events logo on it that El had designed and printed on business cards and flyers. It never failed to fill him with pride. They had been married for four years, but it still amazed him that El had taken their name, his name, and turned it into something this impressive.

His smile only grew when Peter saw that his wife was currently not actually working. Her head rested on a bunch of flyers from catering companies, and she was fast asleep.

Satchmo squeezed past Peter's leg and trotted over to El, sniffing her carefully. He pushed his nose against the palm of her hand that dangled over the edge of the table. When El didn't wake, Satchmo turned to look at Peter.

"She's fine, buddy," he assured him. If she slept in this position for much longer, her neck and back would probably kill her in the morning, though. Peter didn't want to wake her because she clearly needed a break, but he also didn't want her to hurt tomorrow.

"You're right, Satchmo. Let's get her into bed," he said, and the young Lab wagged his tail when Peter came closer and tried to lift El into his arms without jostling her awake.

Somehow he managed to carry her down the stairs and to put her down on her side of the bed without waking her. He then gently pushed her hair out of her face and gave her the softest of kisses. When Peter turned away towards the door, Satchmo was standing there, still watching curiously. He wasn't used to anyone being carried in this house who wasn't him.

"You want to say good night, too?" Peter asked him.

Satchmo padded over to the bed and before Peter could stop him, he actually licked El's face once.

"Good boy. That's enough now. Don't wake her." Peter grabbed the Lab's collar and led him back over to the door.

That's when El finally stirred. "Why does my face smell like dog?" she muttered.

Peter laughed softly. "Just wanted to make sure you know how much we both love you."

"Come to bed then," she replied sleepily.

"Both of us?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Surprised, Peter looked at Satchmo, who cocked his head at him. "What happened to no more rule-breaking now that he's no longer a puppy?" At least not physically. Cognitively, he had a few more years of learning ahead of him.

El shrugged. "I'm willing to make exceptions when I'm in a good mood."

Peter gave up on hoping that she would go right back to sleep because now he was curious. "You are?" He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge next to her. "What's going on?"

Satchmo followed him again and sat back on his haunches, looking just as curious. Although that was his default look these days.

Nevertheless, El smiled at both of them and sat up. "The Swedish Consulate is having a reception for Queen Silvia, who will be in town next month, and they hired Burke Premiere Events to do it."

Peter stared at her for several long seconds. "You're kidding."

El just shook her head, her smile growing.

"How?"

Of course, Peter had always believed that she would get there eventually, but until now El had mostly been hired for private events like a wedding renewal and a big 60th birthday party/family reunion. As wonderful as those occasions had been, they had made El a little antsy because she wanted Burke Premiere Events to be noticed by other businesses and bigger institutions so she could prove herself on a more professional level and work on a grander scale.

The only exception had been the DeArmitt Gallery. El was still on good terms with them, and they had hired her for an exhibit opening. Everything had gone off without the slightest hitch since El still knew the gallery inside out. It had been like having the home-field advantage. Which was why she had counted it as only a partial victory.

"The consul general was at the opening at the DeArmitt Gallery," El explained. Clearly, she had judged herself too harshly. "I talked to him a little bit because he had overheard that I used to manage the place and he wanted to buy a piece. I got him in touch with Mr. Sanders and told him what I was doing now. Looks like he remembered me. And he says he liked the food."

"Ah, because you didn't serve the cocktail shrimp," Peter said.

El laughed. "Right. That must be it."

He took her hand. "Honey, that's amazing."

"Thank you." She cupped his cheek and leaned in for a kiss. "How was your day?"

"Doesn't matter. We should toast to this." Peter furrowed his brow. "What kind of beverage is appropriate for toasting to hosting a queen?"

"I don't know. I have no idea what I'm going to serve at the reception," El said, her brain going into overdrive immediately.

Peter squeezed her hand. "How about hot dogs and meatballs?"

"Oh, hon, it's the Swedish Consulate, not IKEA."

"I'm just saying. I was right about the shrimp."

El laughed. "Yes, you were."

"And I will be right about you doing a great job with this, too. As long as you remember to sleep every now and then, preferably in bed."

"Why would I need to remember as long as I have my boys to remind me?" Smiling, El reached out to scratch Satchmo's ears. He looked very pleased with himself and settled down next to the bed.

"Would you like us to get the champagne then?" Peter asked.

El sank back down into the pillows. "I can think of better ways to celebrate."

After a quick look at Satchmo to make sure he wasn't going to launch himself onto the bed like a 60-pound cannonball, Peter quickly took off his jacket and tie. "I was hoping you would say that."

* * *

Her keys slipped right through her fingers and clattered to the ground noisily. "Dammit!" Elizabeth cursed while she tried to feel for them on the stairs. The lamp out here was broken and they hadn't gotten around to fixing it, so Elizabeth couldn't see very well in the dark. Inside the house, Satchmo was barking like crazy, which was unusual and only stressed her more.

Finally, Elizabeth found her keys and managed to insert them into the front door. In the hallway, she quickly got rid of her coat, and as soon as she had opened the door to the living room, Satchmo was there, jumping up on her as if she had been gone for days.

"Satch, calm down! What's going… on…?" Elizabeth's eyes had travelled from her dog to the rest of the room and her jaw dropped. "Satchmo!"

The living room was in chaos. Every single pillow from the couch had been ripped open. The feathers had settled all over the place as if it had snowed in here, and in between there were a couple of books from the lower shelves that had been ripped out and gnawed on. And right in the middle of it all was a big yellow puddle that smelled unmistakably like dog pee.

Outraged, Elizabeth looked back at Satchmo, but he was suddenly no longer at her side. He was sitting at a safe distance with his tail between his legs and his head hanging low. He hadn't peed in the house in months, and that miserable dog in the corner who didn't dare to meet her eyes was clearly ashamed of it.

Elizabeth sighed, her anger vanishing, or at least moving on from Satchmo. It wasn't his fault that her meeting at the Swedish Consulate had taken so much longer than she had anticipated. She had hoped to be home hours ago. But it shouldn't have mattered either way because, knowing that she had an important meeting, Peter had been supposed to take Satchmo on his evening walk.

Clearly, that hadn't worked out.

Elizabeth dropped her purse and knelt. "Come here, Satch. It's okay, baby," she said, holding out her hands to him. "I'm so sorry. It's not your fault."

It took him a moment longer to decide, but then he padded over to her. Slowly, he started wagging his tail again when Elizabeth kissed him on the nose and cuddled him thoroughly. "Where's your daddy, huh, Satch? Why didn't he come to let you out?"

Satchmo's only response was to turn his head and sniff at her purse.

"Oh no, you're not destroying that, too," Elizabeth said, quickly snatching it up. "Let's get you some dinner because I'm assuming you didn't have that either, and you can go out into the garden while I clean this up. And then I'll take you on your walk. A really long one, okay? Does that sound good?"

The way Satchmo inhaled the extra-large portion of food Elizabeth put in front of him in the kitchen seemed to indicate that he was on board with her plan. After dinner, she let him out onto the patio, and that's when she heard Peter coming home.

He stopped short the same way Elizabeth had when he saw the living room. "What happened?"

"Well, I'm hoping you caught a very dangerous criminal today," she replied.

Peter's brow creased. "Not yet. Somebody circulated fake Chilean bonds, and it looks like James Bonds is back, but we couldn't detect him on any of the security footage."

Elizabeth crossed her arms. "Perhaps he was out walking his dog."

It only took a couple of seconds for the confusion on Peter's face to clear and to be replaced with dread. "You had a meeting at the Consulate tonight! I was supposed to be home to watch Satchmo…" He took in the living room again, seeing the destruction in an entirely new light.

"I guess I should have filled out a request form and put it in James Bonds' case file," Elizabeth said coolly.

"El, I'm sorry." Peter took a step towards her, but she stopped him in his tracks.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Satchmo. He feels really bad about this."

Peter looked hesitant, but when Elizabeth nodded in the direction of the patio, he sighed and went outside to do as he was told.

In the meantime, Elizabeth donned a pair of gloves to clean up the puddle of dog pee – a task she hadn't missed since Satchmo had outgrown the puppy stage.

"Honey, let me do that," Peter said when he came back inside.

Elizabeth shook her head. "It's fine." When Peter reached out anyway, she snapped, "I said it's fine!"

Peter's eyes widened. "Are you sure you don't want me to apologize to someone else besides Satchmo?"

Heaving a sigh, Elizabeth peeled off the gloves and sat back. "What are we even doing right now?"

"Cleaning up a mess our dog made?" Peter said, confused by her question.

"No, I mean, I'm trying to work from home as much as I can while you're in the office, and when you come home, I'm going out to take meetings and try to be Burke Premiere Events by myself, and in between we force our dog to pee on the floor because we're never really home anymore, certainly not at the same time."

"It was an accident, El. And when he gets older, Satchmo will be able to stay home alone for longer. Or we could get a sitter."

"Right, because that's why we got a dog – to leave him alone or call a sitter."

Peter frowned. "What are you saying?"

"Maybe this is not working out," she replied with a helpless shrug.

"What? With Satchmo?" Peter asked, stunned.

"Of course not. I'm talking about Burke Premiere Events," Elizabeth explained.

Peter shook his head. "No."

"Yes, I underestimated what it means to be a one-woman business. I feel like I'm always compromising. Either I'm not looking out for my dog to take care of my business, or I'm not doing my job to make sure my dog's okay, or I'm working instead of spending time with either my dog or my husband."

Peter didn't respond right away. "You're nervous about the reception," he said eventually. "I get it. I've never investigated royalty, but I imagine it would be pretty nerve-wrecking, especially if I had to do it on my own. But honey, you have always been a one-woman show, and I mean that in the best way possible. You know what you want and you get it. This time won't be any different. And this," he pointed at the disaster that was their living room, "is on me. And Satchmo. Because I understand the peeing, but the books were overkill."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Yeah, that feels like a message to us."

"He had you all to himself for as long as he can remember, and now he suddenly has to share. I'd be upset, too."

"And here I was just feeling a little better..." Elizabeth sighed.

Peter ran a hand up and down her arm. "He'll get used to it."

"What if I don't?"

"Well, you can always dress him up in a bowtie and take him with you."

Elizabeth laughed at the mental image. "Maybe you should take Satch. Maybe he can help you find your guy."

"Nah, he's a con artist. He'd probably need a treat and thirty seconds and he'd have Satchmo defending him," Peter said and got a garbage bag to stuff all the feathers inside.

"He's a smart one, isn't he?" Elizabeth asked.

"I could argue that committing a crime is never the smart choice, but yeah, this one's definitely clever."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "Then why are you smiling?"

Peter shrugged. "I always liked the smart ones," he said, leaning in to kiss her.

* * *

He was so focused on examining every inch of the fake Chilean bonds, Peter almost didn't notice that his phone was ringing. It was Carl who picked it up and put it in his hand.

"Your wife needs to talk to you," he informed him before he headed over to the office kitchen.

Peter blinked and pressed the phone to his ear. "Honey? Everything okay?"

Rather than answer that question, El said, _"I'm sorry I missed lunch."_

They had planned to meet back home to walk Satchmo together, but El had been too busy to make it. With a bemused smile, Peter leaned back in his chair.

" _Are you still there, hon?"_ El asked.

"I'm just stunned to hear those words coming out of your mouth and not mine," he replied.

El huffed. _"You still owe me 235 missed dinners. One missed lunch doesn't make us even."_

"Please tell me you didn't actually count them."

" _No, but I actually really need your help right now."_

Hearing the urgency in her voice, Peter sat back up. "What's the matter?"

" _It's easier if I show you,"_ El said. _"I know you have a lot going on…"_

Peter was already reaching for his gun and badge. "Tell me where to meet you."

About half an hour later, he stood in the kitchens of the Swedish Consulate and looked somewhat confused at his distressed wife.

"What exactly am I looking at here, El?" he asked.

"About 2,000 dollars worth of caviar," she replied.

His eyes widened. "Are you telling me that we paid 2,000 bugs for fish eggs?"

"No, it was in the budget for the reception. But the problem is... that right there isn't actually worth anything, or at least not 2,000 dollars. It's not actual caviar," El explained.

Peter took a step closer. "It looks like fish eggs. Smells like it, too."

"That's because they are fish eggs, just not from the right fish. Authentic caviar must come from the sturgeon. These don't, and it's not what I ordered."

"Are you sure anyone will be able to tell the difference?" Peter wondered.

El shot him an exasperated look. "I will be able to tell the difference!"

"But not everybody has a mother who works at a specialty foods store," Peter argued.

"Not everybody is the Queen of Sweden!" El shot back.

Peter threw up his hands in defeat. "All right! Did you get in touch with the store you ordered this from?"

"Of course. They insist that they delivered exactly what I ordered and that the caviar will have developed the taste I'm looking for by the time I serve it after resting a bit, which is a load of crap."

"Couldn't you have it tested to prove that it's not real caviar?"

"Sure, I'll just use the FBI lab in our basement," El said, giving him a pointed look. "And even then, they would probably blame their supplier, and none of that helps me because I need real caviar for the reception and I need it now. And if they are not giving it to me, I have to buy it somewhere else – and this time it would be our own money."

Peter's face blanched. "Oh no, I don't care if the fish that laid those eggs was made of pure gold, I'm not paying for that."

"I thought you might say that. So can you please go over there and get me my caviar?"

Peter thoughtfully inspected the fish eggs again. "Okay, so this is not real caviar?"

El rolled her eyes. "Honey, I just told you that!"

"Bear with me here, hon. So how much is this substitute actually worth?"

"I don't know. Less than half?" El guessed.

"And most people – I know not you – but someone like me would probably not recognize that it's not actual caviar if I'm told that it is?"

"I guess so."

"Huh."

El raised both eyebrows at him. "What does 'huh' mean?"

Peter turned to give her a wry smile. "I think you just brought me a case."

"What?"

"I don't think this was a mistake. I think this store is scamming people on a regular basis. They sell authentic caviar, have their customers pay the premium for it, and then they deliver this substitute and make a nice profit of it. It's a fairly easy scam as long as no one recognizes the difference."

El looked stunned for a moment. "I don't know why I'm even surprised. Of course, I found the one store in New York City that is committing a white-collar crime." She sighed and shook her head. "Okay, so how do we prove it?"

"We would have to search the store because operations like this usually have two sets of books, the one that looks like everything is above board and the one that tells the real story. But to get that search warrant, I need probable cause."

"This is not probable cause?" El asked, pointing at the fake caviar.

"It's a start, but it's better if we can catch them selling that to an actual FBI agent." Peter grinned at her. "I guess I need to go buy some caviar."

* * *

"You always stumble across the weirdest cases, man," Carl said upon meeting him outside the gourmet food store El had bought from.

"I know. But this one's important," Peter replied.

"I'm always game to help out Elizabeth. I was just hoping for something a little more exciting for our last case together."

Peter paused. "You're taking the offer from Organized Crime."

It wasn't really a question, but Carl nodded anyway. "I have to, Peter. I love working with you and watching you go places. But Organized Crime is a step up from White Collar."

"If you say so." Peter shrugged.

Carl shot him a grin. "Everybody says so, except for you. You could have gotten a job with Organized Crime anytime."

"Yeah, and make sure my wife doesn't sleep at all anymore?" Peter shook his head. "Plus, I like White Collar. It's not always about who has the bigger guns."

"I know. No one outsmarts you." Carl grabbed his shoulder. "Let's show these guys. One last time."

They entered the store and were greeted by a middle-aged Asian man, who looked friendly enough. But just knowing what he was putting El through made Peter want to clock him.

Which was why Carl did most of the talking. "Hey there, my buddy here is getting married," he said, patting Peter on the back. He had taken off his wedding ring before coming in and just like Carl he had exchanged his suit for casual jeans and a Yankees tee. "And I'm throwing him a real classy bachelor party, with caviar and all that shit. Personally, I have no clue what's so fucking great about a bunch of freakin' fish eggs, but if people want it, we want it."

The store owner had a hard time schooling his features so he wouldn't show what he thought of Carl's unchecked attitude. He certainly didn't seem to suspect that he was dealing with an FBI agent, which was the point. "Of course, sir."

"So you have it? And I mean the good stuff, not something cheap. Price isn't an issue."

The owner's expression brightened a bit. "Of course, we do. Right over here, sir."

He led them over to a counter where they had little bowls of caviar available for tasting. It looked exactly like what El had showed him earlier. Then again, if it were easy to tell apart, they wouldn't even be here right now.

Still, Peter asked, "And this is actual caviar?"

"Yes, sir. The best there is. Would you like a taste?"

"No, we don't want to ruin the surprise for the party. If you say it's the real deal, we believe you. We'll need more, though, and it's a bit of a rush job. We'll need it tomorrow," Peter told him.

The owner nodded. "It'll be an extra delivery charge."

"Not a problem," Peter assured him. Courtesy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, he thought, suppressing a smirk, while he carefully read and signed the delivery order.

Now all they needed to do was wait.

Of course, with the reception looming, waiting wasn't exactly fun for El, and the stress she was radiating was driving Peter crazy. So he put a rush on the lab job as soon as the caviar was delivered and then again on getting the search warrant signed when the lab confirmed what El had been telling him all along.

The ink on the warrant hadn't even dried yet when Peter walked back into that store with a couple of agents on his heels.

"What's the meaning of this? Who are you?" the same Asian store owner met them.

"Special Agent Peter Burke, FBI. We have a warrant to search these premises on the suspicion that you have been selling fraudulent products to your customers," he said while signaling his agents to start searching.

The store owner took his time looking over the warrant, and eventually, his eyes narrowed when he looked back at Peter and recognized him. "I take it there was no bachelor party."

"Actually, there was," Peter replied.

He held out his beringed hand to one of the agents who had headed straight for the office in the back and returned with a book. The book that recorded exactly what the store had been ordering and selling.

"And you sold 2,000 dollars worth of fake caviar to my wife. Big mistake. Really big mistake," Peter said and tried to be professional enough not to smile when he reached for his cuffs.

He wouldn't stop smiling, though, when they were back in the White Collar offices and especially not when El showed up.

"I got your message. Honey, what happened?" she asked.

"We got the lab results back, got the search warrant, and found all the evidence we could ask for. They are being booked right now," he told her. "That might have been my fastest win ever."

El smiled softly and rested a hand on his arm. "That's great, honey."

Peter's smile widened. "It's not what you wanted, though."

"Well, I am happy that they won't keep doing this to other people. But other than that, them getting arrested doesn't really help me out right now."

"Actually, it does," Peter corrected her. "They did have real caviar in the store, probably for the tastings, and it's currently on its way to the Swedish Consulate."

El looked like she was trying really hard not to get her hopes up just yet. "But isn't that evidence?"

"Some of it is. But the FBI doesn't need all that caviar that will only go bad in lock-up anyway. Plus, the store was contractually obligated to deliver that caviar to you, so technically, it was already yours, and the FBI is just making sure you finally get it."

Slowly, El's disbelief faded. She stepped closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, hon," she whispered and squeezed his hand in lieu of kissing him in a way that would have been inappropriate in the office.

Peter gave her a lopsided grin. "Isn't that what you married me for?"

"Of course, I always knew having an FBI agent for a husband would come in handy one day." El chuckled. "Where's Carl? I was hoping to tell him thanks, too."

"He's already packing up his stuff," Peter told her.

"So he's really moving on?"

He nodded.

"Does that make you sad?" El asked softly.

"No. I'm exactly where I want to be and I can only want the same for him," Peter replied honestly.

El glanced at her watch and sighed. "Okay, well, I have to be somewhere else now."

"Of course." Peter walked her back to the elevator, so he could give her a real kiss before saying goodbye. "Knock 'em dead, honey."

* * *

Elizabeth felt like she was crossing a frozen lake. She had almost made it to the other side, but the ice was getting thinner near the shore, so she could still break in at any time and needed to constantly remind herself not to lose focus too soon.

The reception was going very well. There was enough food (including the caviar) and drinks, and the servers needed to refill their trays regularly, which meant that people liked it. Elizabeth had learned that the queen was a fan of several old movies that played in New York and so she had converted one of the Consulate's nicest halls into a bit of a film museum. The queen and the most prominent guests were currently enjoying that, so things were pretty calm.

Still, Elizabeth kept walking from one room to the next to check in with the Consulate staff and the guests to make sure the decorations, the food, and the music were all in order. It was a bit cumbersome in the long, rich-blue evening dress and high heels she was wearing, but since there was royalty at this event, she had felt like she had no choice but to dress up.

Most of the guests were dressed in similar fashion. Nevertheless, it took her by complete surprise when she recognized a very familiar and very handsome man in a dark blue tux, who headed right for her.

"What are you doing here, hon?" Elizabeth asked after Peter had quickly kissed her hello.

"First of all, don't worry. I got us a dog sitter for Satchmo," he replied with a chuckle. "After everything that happened, I had to at least take a look. See how it's going."

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow. "You rented a tux just to take a look?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you in front of the queen," he winked at her.

"Queen Silvia is a little too busy to take notice, but thanks, hon, I'm glad you're here." Elizabeth squeezed his hand.

Peter did as he had said and took a look around. "People seem to be enjoying the caviar," he noted drily.

Elizabeth laughed. "They are. You should try it."

"I'll take your word for it. Better not risk spilling it on the tux."

"I told you the queen is not going to see." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why did you really rent a tux?"

Peter sighed. "Well, to be honest, I thought I could kill two birds with one stone. I can't really stay long, honey. I have to get to the Bureau's commendation dinner."

"What?" Elizabeth gaped at him. "That's tonight? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because clearly, you're busy, and I didn't want you to feel bad about that."

"So you lied to me?"

"No," Peter said quickly, holding up a hand to calm her down before she could get upset. "I withheld information for a very brief period of time for your own good."

Elizabeth thought about that and decided that this was neither the place nor the time, so she let it go. "When does it start?"

"At eight, but I don't want you to try and rush over there, El. This right here is too important, and there'll be other dinners. It's not a big deal."

Elizabeth gave him a pointed look. "You're wearing a tux."

"Apparently, I have to do that more often, so it doesn't give me away next time," Peter remarked.

"I certainly wouldn't mind," Elizabeth said, straightening his bowtie with a smile on her lips.

"Yeah?" Peter noticed the sparkle in her eyes and grinned. "Perhaps I could wear it tonight."

Their heads were close together now, but Elizabeth quickly stepped back when somebody cleared their throat behind her. It was the consul general.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Burke. Her Majesty wishes to meet the one who prepared the film exhibit for her."

"Oh, um, of course, I'll be there in a minute," Elizabeth replied haltingly.

"Very well. And I've been meaning to tell you that everything looks fabulous."

"Thank you."

The consul walked off and Elizabeth turned back to her husband, her eyes wide.

Peter was grinning from ear to ear now. "Well, hon, looks like Burke Premiere Events is officially in business."

Elizabeth shook her head in a daze. "How is this happening to me?"

"Because you're remarkable, El, and you worked hard for this. Also, you look amazing," Peter said and reached for her hands to stop her from nervously trying to fix her hair. He held her hands for so long until his strength and pride had made her calm down a little.

Then, a mischievous glint lit up his eyes. "And I hope you practiced how to curtsy."

Elizabeth pulled back her hands and shoved him towards the door. "Oh, just get out of here already!" She laughed, and then she took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself for what came next.

* * *

The hem of her dress almost got caught in the taxi door in her hurry to exit. This was exactly what Peter had warned her not to do, but Elizabeth didn't care and quickly climbed the stairs to the hall where the FBI held its commendation dinners.

The reception had gone above and beyond what she could have hoped for. Eventually, Queen Silvia had moved on to her next scheduled appointment, and most of the guests had left with her. All that was left now was the cleanup. Usually, Elizabeth would have stayed and handled that right away, but this time, she had simply told the staff to take a two-hour break. There was somewhere else she needed to be.

The dinner had already started, of course, but Elizabeth figured better late than never. Plus, she was already dressed up, anyway. The FBI agent who stood outside the entrance didn't seem to agree, however.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I need to see your invitation," he stopped her from entering.

"Oh, I don't have one. My husband is already inside. Special Agent Peter Burke. I'm his wife Elizabeth."

Nothing in the agent's face gave away whether he recognized Peter's name or not. "I'm sorry. I can't let you in without an invitation. Security reasons."

"Really? Do I look like a security risk to you?" Elizabeth asked, even though she should have learned by now that mocking an FBI agent was never a good idea. They loved to take themselves too seriously for their own good. She also unintentionally invited the agent to take a closer look at her dress, specifically all the places she could possibly be hiding anything.

The agent opened his mouth to issue another bland apology when a young African-American agent appeared behind him. It looked like he had been about to take a phone call out here, but now he seemed to have changed his mind.

"There you are, honey! I've been waiting for you," he said, putting away his phone, and he looked directly at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth stared back at this man she had never seen before in her entire life, and the agent at the door did the same thing.

"You are Special Agent Burke?" he asked suspiciously.

The African-American agent hesitated for just a second. He probably hadn't expected that Elizabeth had given the agent at the door her husband's name. But now there was no other way except to continue with this odd charade. "I… am. Do you want my wife to get a cold out here while I go back to the table to get our invitation?"

"No, it's fine," the door agent said after short deliberation. He moved aside. "Sorry, Mrs. Burke."

Elizabeth didn't dare say anything while she moved past him and she tried not to flinch when the man pretending to be her husband rested a hand on the small of her back to lead her inside.

As soon as they had rounded a corner and were out of sight of the door, he let go and stepped back. "Sorry about that. It just seemed like the quickest way to help."

With a bemused smile, Elizabeth looked up at him. "No, it's fine. I mean, thank you. But I'm sorry, I don't think I know you."

"Clinton Jones," he introduced himself with a firm handshake and a charming smile. "I haven't been at White Collar long and I didn't get the chance to work with your husband yet, but I'm hoping to change that. I recognized you from the picture on his desk. Which is not as creepy as it sounds."

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh, I know. It's just what you guys do. And for what it's worth, I'll tell Peter to look out for you."

"Thanks! Now, come on, it should be starting soon," Jones said.

"What's starting?" Elizabeth asked. He couldn't mean the dinner since that had been going on for a while.

"Your husband's commendation," Jones replied matter-of-factly.

Elizabeth stopped short for a moment and then had to hurry to catch up with Jones again, who had kept walking. "Oh, Peter," she muttered under her breath, not sure if she should be upset or touched.

Either way, Jones had been right. When they entered the dining hall, Reese Hughes and Peter were up on the little stage at the other end of the hall, each getting their commendations – and promotions, as it turned out. Hughes was finally getting that ASAC position Peter had mentioned a couple of times, and Peter, who was commended for having the highest closing rate in White Collar, was put in charge of a special white-collar task force, which he would run out of his new office as Supervisory Special Agent.

Stunned, Elizabeth remained standing by the door while Hughes said a few words. Finally, when it was Peter's turn to speak, she began to make her way past the many tables, slowly walking towards the side of the stage.

"I'll keep this brief. My wife is already worried about leaving our dog alone for too long," Peter began, earning a couple of laughs. Elizabeth kept to the side of the room so no one would notice her.

"Working in White Collar doesn't get a lot of agents very excited. They hear mortgage fraud and move on to greener pastures, which is fine with me. Because when I get to recover a long lost Rembrandt or a sunken treasure of Spanish gold coins, more glory for me."

Elizabeth smiled to herself while the room laughed.

"All kidding aside," Peter continued. "I couldn't be prouder to do this job and I'm grateful to my white-collar family for helping me do it and to my real family, the love of my life, my wife Elizabeth, for letting me do it."

Somehow Peter had spotted her, his eyes lighting up when he did so, and Elizabeth just stood there, rooted to the spot, while he looked directly at her now. "El, you paid for this with missed dinners, overdue vacations, and many late nights. I share this with you. It's yours as much as it is mine – and yes, I know that would be more romantic if it wasn't just a piece of paper."

The agents and their families in attendance laughed, and Peter decided that there was nothing to add and walked off the stage.

They met in a corner next to the stage that offered a resemblance of privacy in this room full of people. Because Elizabeth couldn't help herself. She cupped Peter's cheeks and kissed him deeply.

Then she stepped back and lightly hit his arm. "Peter Burke, how could you keep this from me?"

Peter held her hands in a gentle plea not to be mad. "I wasn't. I didn't mean to. You just had so much on your plate…"

"Not so much that I couldn't celebrate with you and tell you how proud I am. Honey, this is what you've been working for since the day I met you!" Elizabeth reminded him unnecessarily.

"I know that, El, and you are the only reason I got here," Peter replied earnestly. "So the least I could do was to let you have your big night."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't want to have a big night without you, and I certainly don't want you to have a big night without me either."

Peter chuckled. "Duly noted for next time."

"What exactly is next?" Elizabeth wondered after a moment of taking it all in.

"Well, I guess I'll be assembling my task force and you can start looking for a real office."

"Do you think we can do all that and still have time for us?"

As much as Elizabeth loved the work she had found for herself in Burke Premiere Events, she was still getting used to the pressure of being solely responsible for the survival of the entire business. That in combination with the demands put in front of an FBI agent – an FBI agent _in charge_ – sounded like a recipe for many more late-night 'How was your day?' conversations that took place in bed. Not that she minded the 'in bed' part, but she preferred to also see her husband sometime during the day.

Peter wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. "If there's anything I've learned in these past five years, then it's that we can do anything."

* * *

 **A/N: Getting really close to the Peter and Elizabeth we all know and love from the show... But first a certain devilishly handsome con artist is going to make some waves in the Burke household. So stay tuned and leave me a review if you like.**


	23. The Chase

**A/N: Another long one. Hope you don't mind. Thanks for all your wonderful reviews.** **Let me know what you think.**

* * *

When Elizabeth took off her shoes, she was really glad to be home – and so were her feet. She was used to doing a lot of walking. More often than not, it was the fastest way to get anywhere in this city. But spending the first half of her day looking for wedding venues with a client who nixed everything and the second half looking for an office to rent in Manhattan had turned out to be a very bad combination.

She wasn't necessarily in a hurry to find an office since she had a good enough version of one at home, but clients like Missy Appleton, aka the bride who hated everything on principal, reminded her why it might be nice to keep her home separate from her work. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was just as picky as Missy when it came to finding an office. And for good reason. If she was going to pay a ridiculous amount of money for an office space, she wanted it to put Burke Premiere Events on the map. She wanted it to have a store front, nice large windows, and a clean open space with sufficient room in the back for storage.

Needless to say, she hadn't found anything like that today. Still, Elizabeth had made the most of the time Peter had given her by agreeing to come home early to be with Satchmo. In other words, he had agreed to come home from work to then keep working from home. But it was good enough.

Satchmo certainly seemed happy when he greeted her. Of course, that might have been because he had something in his mouth – and the gleeful look in his eyes told Elizabeth right away that it was something he wasn't supposed to have.

"Hey, Satch. What have you got there?" she asked him lightly, because in these situations it was important not to look like you were going to pounce and take whatever it was away from him.

Before she had properly identified what it was, though, Peter was there, and he used Satchmo's focus on Elizabeth to grab him from behind and pry it out of his mouth. "Evidence tempering is punishable by up to 20 years in prison or, in your case, two days of not sleeping on the couch and eating your least favorite kibble," he told Satchmo, who flattened his ears.

Then Peter looked up and smiled at Elizabeth. "Hey, hon."

She arched an eyebrow. "Hey, everything okay with you two?"

"Yes, don't worry. Satchmo was just helping me with the case and got a little carried away."

"I see. So I leave you alone for one day and you deputize our dog?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter grinned at her. He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood. "Gotta teach them while they're young."

Elizabeth laughed and headed into the kitchen. There she solved the mystery of the forbidden object in Satchmo's mouth. The entire kitchen island was covered with foreign banknotes – British pounds, if she wasn't mistaken. In any case, it was a large sum, far north of a hundred. Not something you found in your kitchen every day and not necessarily something she wanted to find in her kitchen. But if the choice was between a clean kitchen and having her husband home, she would always go with the latter.

"Are we planning a trip I don't know about?" Elizabeth asked, picking up a twenty-pound bill.

"Only if you want to get locked up at Her Majesty's pleasure," Peter said, coming up behind her. "These are fake."

"They are?" Surprised, Elizabeth held the bill closer to her face. She was no expert on foreign currency, but the texture alone was impressive. "They look so real!"

"I know they do," Peter said. He had an odd smile on his face. Even though these expertly counterfeit bills vexed him tremendously, he also seemed to be just a little bit proud.

Which allowed for only one conclusion. "This is James Bonds' work," Elizabeth guessed.

Peter's smile widened into a grin. "No," he said. "I mean, yes, but he's no longer James Bonds."

"Why? Did you give him a new nickname? Were you afraid the queen wouldn't approve?" Elizabeth asked, putting the fake bill back on the kitchen island.

"I'm pretty sure Buckingham Palace wouldn't exactly nominate him for knighthood after this," Peter replied. "But no, I just prefer the real thing."

"You got his real name?"

"Well, real enough. He should have stuck to the bonds. Something as high profile as British pounds? That was a ballsy move. And we got him for it."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "Honey, you arrested him?"

"Oh no, not yet, we can't actually prove that he made these," Peter replied and he didn't even look terribly upset about that. He seemed too excited about the little progress they had made. It was kind of cute. "Not definitively, anyway. But we now have his name, which means we can make life more difficult for him. And at the very least, we can connect him to those fake bonds he made." Peter opened the case file and stared at it for a moment. "The ego on this guy, El... you wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, I believe it," Elizabeth laughed softly.

"Why?" Peter asked curiously.

"With a pretty face like that, I doubt he ever had much reason to learn what the word 'no' even means."

Peter looked at her intently. "Well, if it's a question of beauty, then I know someone else who shouldn't have that word in her vocabulary."

Elizabeth wanted to tell him not to be so sappy, but she couldn't help the smile on her face and she leaned in to kiss him instead. After the kiss, she laid her palms against his chest. "Okay, enough with the suspense! What's his name?"

"Neal Caffrey."

"Neal Caffrey?" she repeated, sounding it out. "I think I liked James Bonds better."

Peter laughed. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Just had a nice ring to it," Elizabeth said with a shrug.

Probably because 'James Bonds' couldn't possibly be real. It was this phantom Peter had started chasing, this larger-than-life idea that had been part of the reason for creating this task force he was leading now. But other than that, it was entirely removed from their actual life.

Neal Caffrey on the other hand was clearly a real person – a person who, presumably, had reasons for doing all this, who had a life, and who would certainly try to defend that life in whatever ways he deemed acceptable. Obviously, rules weren't exactly his thing. But whoever he was, he was someone to somebody and, for better or worse, he was constantly on her husband's mind now.

It was up to Elizabeth to remind him of other priorities in life – like not to starve to death. "So, can I have my kitchen back or were you planning on eating any of this stuff like Satchmo?"

"No, I was planning on making pot roast to celebrate."

Elizabeth frowned. "What are we celebrating? You haven't caught him yet."

"No, but I will," Peter replied without hesitation.

"What were you saying earlier about Caffrey being too confident and making mistakes because of it?" Elizabeth asked pointedly.

Peter grimaced, but he recovered quickly. "Honey, you've been on your feet all day. Why don't you just sit down and let me make dinner so I can show you how much I appreciate your wisdom?"

Elizabeth chuckled. "Now that sounds like a pot roast I would love to eat."

"Good." Smiling, Peter started packing up, but when he held Caffrey's picture in his hand, he stopped and hesitated.

"Hon, if you need to keep working..." Elizabeth said slowly, not sure what to make of this.

"No, it's just... there's something about his face," Peter said thoughtfully.

Elizabeth snorted. "Yeah, I'd say so."

Peter rolled his eyes at her. "No, not _that._ Something familiar."

"Well, you've talked to him before, right? At the bank?"

"Yes, but that's not it. I feel like there's something else I don't recall."

Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. "That's probably because you've been staring at all of this for too long."

"You're right." Peter closed the file. "I'm all yours now, and you're still not sitting down."

"I'm going, I'm going," she said, walking over to the couch to cuddle with Satchmo.

"How did the office hunt go?" Peter asked from the kitchen.

"It didn't. Not really. Perhaps I'll have to lower my expectations."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting the best. You'll find something."

Elizabeth rested her head on Satchmo's. "Aren't you ever tired of looking?" she asked thoughtfully.

"No. Because if the search wasn't hard, why would I be excited about finding anything?" Peter replied simply.

And that right there, Elizabeth thought, smiling to herself, was why her husband was so good at his job.

* * *

Once she had learned his name, there was no escaping Neal Caffrey.

Elizabeth had always known that Peter was extremely dedicated to seeing things through and that he hated to lose, so being outsmarted by a criminal was not something he could tolerate easily. There had been cases before when her husband had dug his heels in for as long and as deep as necessary and nothing and no one had been able to convince him otherwise until he had caught the guy.

This Neal Caffrey business introduced her to a whole new level of stubbornness – or perhaps obsession was the right word for it.

Nothing was sacred anymore. Elizabeth had been in the bathroom for twenty minutes, tops, and when she returned to the bedroom, it looked like a bomb had exploded on the bed – instead of shrapnel it had left files everywhere.

Peter sat right in the middle of it all, with his legs under the covers, a different piece of paper in every hand, and a frown on his face. For a brief moment, Elizabeth wondered if he would have even cared, or at least noticed, if she had walked in here naked. Then she decided that she didn't really want to know.

The most vexing part about it was that she couldn't complain too much because then Peter would try to keep this away from her. Which meant, he wouldn't be coming home anymore. So all Elizabeth could do was to get on board.

Suppressing a sigh, she slipped under the covers on her side of the bed and tried not to cause any of the papers to fall off.

"So what did Caffrey do now?" she asked.

"He stole an original Faulkner manuscript and sold several copies of his own making to a bunch of collectors," Peter replied.

Elizabeth picked up a photo that showed one of the forged manuscripts. "Faulkner, huh? So he's a literary scholar now, too?"

"I don't think there's anything this guy can't forge. And as long as we're stuck playing catch-up, he'll just keep building a rap sheet a mile long."

Looking at Caffrey's work, Elizabeth felt a familiar sense of admiration. His work was beautiful. Not the stealing part, of course, but the things he created were always imbued with a level of perfection that spoke of real passion. Somehow that made her sad.

"I wonder what happened to him."

Peter looked up from his report. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he's a very good-looking man, the kind everybody loves to love, and he has the talent to match. He's using it in all the wrong ways, but clearly it's there, and he's smart enough to know that. So why does a guy like that, who could literally do anything, be anything, become a con man, a forger, and a thief?"

"Well, if we had the answer to that, I would probably be out of a job," Peter said, but he leaned back to think about it some more. "People have always wanted exactly what they cannot have and as a result they do what they were specifically told not to do."

"But not for nothing. You don't just break the rules simply for the sake of breaking the rules – not after you're done with high school and realize that out in the real world no one will give you a medal for being a rebel and a martyr," Elizabeth argued.

"He sold those Faulkner copies for a lot more than nothing," Peter reminded her.

"I understand that, but there are so many ways he could make money in this world, money that would legitimately be his to keep."

Peter nodded, but he said, "That's probably exactly why any of that would be too easy for him."

"Living a life with commitments and responsibilities is not easy. Running away at a moment's notice and giving up, or getting upset about your husband turning your bed into a crime scene, that is easy. Staying and loving and forgiving is hard and exhausting and worth every wonderful minute of it," Elizabeth said, reaching out to squeeze Peter's hand when he opened his mouth either to apologize or to defend himself, which hadn't been her intention. "I'm just saying Caffrey must not have had anyone in his life to teach him that."

Peter pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "Maybe you should talk to our profiling department, honey," he said with a smile that was soft and astounded but not the least bit mocking, though she had gone off on a bit of a tangent. "And if it makes you feel any better, Caffrey actually wasn't alone this time. He had a female accomplice when he stole the manuscript."

"So he has a girlfriend," Elizabeth said, not really surprised.

"No, that's not what I said. There's no evidence..."

Elizabeth laughed. "Oh honey, would you like a picture of them making out? An attractive guy like that, working closely with a woman? She's definitely his girlfriend."

Peter looked down at his collection of evidence and information on Caffrey and furrowed his brow. "A girlfriend might give us a new angle. She could be a weakness."

"Or a strength," Elizabeth said pointedly.

"I'm not talking about us, honey. Things are a little different when you're wanted criminals," Peter replied.

"I think we would make an excellent crime duo."

Peter gaped at her. "What?"

Elizabeth laughed at the look on his face. "Well, you know exactly how to escape the reach of law enforcement and you're strong and highly trained, while I could get us access to all the museums and galleries, even some of the jewelry stores in town."

"I'm not going to ask why it sounds like you thought about this before," Peter said, shaking his head with a bemused smile on his face.

"Perhaps a new way of thinking is exactly what you need, hon. Try to think like Caffrey and figure out what he could want to steal next."

"Easier said than done in a city like New York."

"The Channing Museum is having its annual Masters Retrospective next week. I could get us in there and you could take a look without screaming FBI right away. Maybe that way, Caffrey will show up," Elizabeth suggested, feigning innocence.

It didn't work as well as she had hoped. "Are you trying to get me to go to that thing with you by making it sound like work?" Peter asked, instantly suspicious.

"That depends. Not if you're willing to go simply because you want to be with me," Elizabeth replied, placing a hand on his arm.

Peter looked from her hand back into her eyes. "Not fair," he complained.

"Come on, honey, it's a very special event with lots of important guests."

He sighed. "You know I'm not good at talking to those people."

"What if I told you that if you don't come with me, other men will try to flirt with me all the time?" Elizabeth asked.

That got his attention. "What? You're wearing a wedding ring!"

"Yes, and extramarital affairs are totally unheard of in this town," Elizabeth quipped.

"So now you're saying that if I don't go with you, you'll have an affair?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, hon, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"You do realize blackmail is a crime?" Peter replied drily.

"So is bringing your work to bed."

"No, it isn't."

Elizabeth laughed, thinking that it really should be, and leaned in closer. "Fine, but I really do think Caffrey could be interested in this event. It's kind of a big deal. And even if you don't see him, maybe he'll show up and see you, and then he'll know that he can't run from Special Agent Peter Burke forever."

Peter smiled and raised a hand to cup her cheek. "Sometimes I think the Burke he should really be afraid of is you."

Elizabeth gave him a kiss and finally settled in to go to sleep. "Only if he hurts you," she said.

* * *

Peter wasn't very big on birthdays. More often than not, they were more trouble than they were worth. After his mom had died, birthdays had simply stopped being a big deal in the Burke household – and both Peter and his dad had been fine with that. Of course, El had changed things. Doing right by her on her birthday was sometimes a challenge, but one Peter had gladly accepted because he loved to make her happy. When it was his turn, though, he still had a hard time understanding why all the fuss was necessary.

But he couldn't argue with the way this one had started. El had kissed him awake and whispered 'Happy Birthday' into his ear. And then she had made him forget what day it was and everything else that wasn't her lips on his skin, his hands in her hair, and both of their hearts beating in the same rhythm as their bodies were merging.

Now, Peter was enjoying a big cup of coffee, fresh orange juice, and a stack of made-from-scratch blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon (El loved to go all out on birthday breakfasts and basically all other meals, too). And then, there were the presents that had already been waiting for him on the table.

When they were done eating, El picked one and put it in front of him. "Open mine first."

She seemed more excited about it than Peter. It was cute every year. He had to admit he couldn't imagine that ever getting old. "I thought you already gave me your present earlier," he said, to tease her a little and because he really wouldn't have needed anything else.

El wasn't deterred. "That was just a birthday version of saying 'I love you,'" she said with a brilliant smile.

Peter leaned in closer. "Then by all means, feel free to tell me again."

"Later," El replied, her eyes twinkling. "Now open your presents."

And so he did. El's gift was a beautiful, old sextant that was in excellent condition but still looked like it had once helped previous owners to weather more than one storm.

"Oh, honey, this is great! I love it!" Still holding the sextant, Peter leaned over to kiss his wife. He didn't need her to get him gifts like this, but that didn't mean it wasn't fun to receive them anyway.

"You do?" El asked happily. "I mean, I don't know what you're going to do with it..."

"You never know. We might find ourselves in need to navigate by the stars one day," Peter argued.

El arched an eyebrow. "Because we got lost at sea in the middle of Brooklyn?"

"Could be romantic."

"As long as I'm with you, I'm okay with it."

They smiled at each other and kissed again. "Thank you for the lovely gift," Peter said.

"I'm glad you like it," she replied, cupping his cheek for a moment. "Now, open the others."

There were three more packages and a couple of envelopes with birthday cards. Two of the remaining presents weren't nearly as exciting as El's – one was from his dad and Cecile, the other from Alan and Tina, which meant another awful handknit sweater. Somehow they weren't getting any less embarrassing. They fit a little better but that was all.

Peter was eager to move on before El could get any funny ideas and insist on taking pictures of him wearing it. Except, there was something off about the last remaining package, which was why Peter hadn't touched it yet. It had stood out from the very beginning because it was wrapped with newspaper rather than wrapping paper. It was something Peter might do when El wasn't around to stop him, but he wasn't sure who would send him a present like that.

"Where did this come from?" he asked as he pulled it towards him. Perhaps this was a joke El was in on.

But she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. There was no return address, but it says 'Happy Birthday' right there, so I put it with the other presents."

That wasn't the answer Peter had been hoping for, but El looked at him expectantly, so he carefully unwrapped the package. The newspaper revealed a closed tin box. Peter looked at it from all sides and weighed it in his hand. It wasn't heavy, but there was definitely something inside.

"Would you perhaps like to x-ray it first?" El asked him mockingly.

"That is an excellent idea, hon. Let me look into getting one of those machines..." Peter replied, only partially joking.

El rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, honey, just open it, or I'll do it for you."

Peter held the box out of her reach and then very carefully opened the lid. Thankfully, nothing jumped out at him because El had immediately leaned in close to look inside the box as well.

"Wow, that was a close one. Death by homemade chocolate-chip cookies sounds very painful," she quipped.

"You are so funny today," he told her.

"I know. Maybe we should go back to bed after all," she teased.

But Peter turned his attention back to the box that was indeed filled with what looked like perfectly harmless homemade cookies. Something about it bothered him, though. He reached for the newspaper again and had a closer look at it.

El huffed. "Then I guess I can have a cookie."

Peter didn't respond until he saw the article that was right in the middle of the page that had been used to wrap the box. It was an article about how the FBI had failed to apprehend the brilliant counterfeiter responsible for circulating fake British pounds.

That's when Peter looked up and slapped a cookie right out of El's hand. "Don't eat those!"

She stared at him as if he had completely lost it. "Seriously, hon? What is going on with you?"

"I'm sorry, El. Just give me a minute here." Peter picked up the box again and felt around in it until he found a card at the very bottom. He pulled it out and opened it with two fingers. It read:

 _Dear Agent Burke,_

 _Happy Birthday! Did you know that the Danish people believe that the weather on your birthday reflects your behavior over the past year? Looking out of my window, I would say there is room for improvement. Anyway, enjoy the cookies!_

 _Neal Caffrey_

 _PS: Really, Peter? Can I call you Peter? Did you really think I would try to poison you? That hurts._

Peter wasn't sure what El saw written on his face, but it probably wasn't good. "Honey? What is it? What does it say?" she asked worriedly.

He held up the card for her to read without touching it. Her eyes widened with every word.

"Oh my God, do you think that's real? Is it really from him?"

"I don't know anyone who would try to play a prank on me by pretending to be him," Peter said, shaking his head. "This was him. This was Caffrey. Hopefully, we can find some evidence of that when I get this to the Bureau."

He got up from the table and El followed suit. "You're going to work now?" It was Sunday, and El had been very careful not to schedule any events for today so they could be together on his birthday.

Peter knew that and it made him feel twice as bad about leaving, but he didn't have a choice. "I have to, El. If there's even a chance that he left any evidence on this, the lab has to analyze it as soon as possible."

"Don't you think he's too smart for that?" El argued.

"Even the smart ones make mistakes. And even if there's no trace evidence, there's the card itself. This stuff about the Danish and the weather? We're pretty sure that Caffrey managed to leave the country. I have to check with Interpol. I think this means that Caffrey is in Europe, possibly Denmark," Peter told her.

El crossed her arms. "Or he's just trying to mess with your head. Don't you think it's a little bit scary that he knows where we live?"

"That's the point, El. He wants me to know that he knows who I am as much as I know who he is," Peter realized the truth of his words the minute he said them out loud.

"Why would he do that? To threaten you?" El asked, her brow creasing with worry.

"By sending me cookies?" Peter reached out to squeeze her hand. "No, it's not a threat. It's an invitation."

That didn't seem to confuse El any less. "An invitation for what?"

"An invitation to play," Peter said. He tried not to sound too excited about that. This wasn't a game. But he had just realized that he was in for a bigger challenge than he might have admitted to himself, and well, he had always loved a good challenge.

El stared at him, and Peter could tell that she wasn't happy about him leaving. But she also knew that he wouldn't be able to enjoy anything else unless he got at least a couple of hours to check out all the angles and possible new leads they might get from this.

"Well, it's your birthday, so go play with Neal, I guess."

Peter took her face in his hands and kissed her. "Thanks, El. I love you," he said because he needed her to know that his rushing out of the house right now would never diminish that in any way.

"Go get him, hon," she replied, which was her version of telling him that she did know that.

And so Peter spent most of his birthday at the office, chasing down new leads that in the end all turned out not to be much of a lead at all. They confirmed the handwriting to be Caffrey's, they identified the sort of pen and ink he had used and even where the paper had come from. None of that was particularly helpful, at least not at the moment. Peter still made a note of every little piece of information. With a guy like Caffrey, even the most insignificant detail could someday be relevant.

Right now, though, Peter was convinced that Caffrey was out of his jurisdiction. Especially once he had tracked down the post office from where the package had been sent and discovered that Caffrey hadn't posted it in person. Unsurprisingly, Interpol wasn't in a hurry to get back to him on a Sunday. Eventually, Peter decided not to waste any more time waiting for them. Jones volunteered to stay in the office. The young agent's enthusiasm and tenacity reminded Peter of himself. So far, he hadn't regretted inviting him to join his task force.

When Peter made it back home, El was already making dinner. His favorite dinner, no less.

"So how did it go?" she asked when he joined her in the kitchen.

Peter stepped up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I don't deserve you," he said with a kiss to her cheek.

El's lips curled up into a smile. "I know," she replied lightly. "So how did it go?"

"We confirmed that the card is from Caffrey and that he left the states, and now we're waiting for Interpol to help us out with more information on their end."

If El thought that this was basically still the same information they'd had this morning, she decided not to say so.

"How was your day?" Peter asked, ready to move on from all of this before his very understanding wife could get upset after all.

"Very nice. Satchmo and I made new friends at the dog park. And I think he's a little bit in love with a Dalmatian called Lady," she told him.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid she wasn't very impressed with him. He flirts about as well as his daddy does."

Peter's brows shot up while El laughed at him, her eyes dancing merrily. "Excuse me? Is that any way to treat a birthday boy?" he protested.

"You forfeited your birthday rights when you walked out that door this morning," she said.

Before Peter could point out that she wouldn't be making his favorite dinner if that were true, there was a knock on the very door El had just been talking about. Peter looked at his wife. "Are we expecting guests?"

She shook her head. "I wasn't sure if you'd be home for dinner, so I didn't invite anyone."

Somewhat warily, Peter went to open the door, but it was just Jones.

"Sorry for dropping by unannounced," the younger agent said while Peter stepped aside to let him in, albeit reluctantly. He wanted to make up for the time with El he had missed by going to work, and now work had followed him home.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Burke," Jones added when El joined them to see who it was.

"You, too, and please call me Elizabeth," she replied with a smile that was perfectly genuine and didn't let on whether she was annoyed by yet another interruption. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe?"

"Coffee would be nice," Jones nodded, and Peter watched while El went back into the kitchen to get a fresh cup.

"Here you go."

"Thanks. You have a beautiful home by the way, Mrs. Burke... Elizabeth," Jones stammered.

"Thank you," El smiled graciously.

Peter looked from his agent to his wife and back, wondering if they were done with the pleasantries now. "So what is it, Jones? Or did you just come here to drink my coffee?"

Now it was Jones who looked hesitantly back and forth between them, not sure what he was allowed to say while El was standing right there. She noticed it, too, and was about to excuse herself, but Peter beat her to it.

"Just spit it out, Jones," he said. If Jones wanted to keep working closely with Peter for the foreseeable future, it was about time he learned that there were no secrets in this house.

To his credit, Jones didn't need to be told twice. "You were right. Caffrey is in Denmark or at least he was," he jumped right in.

"What happened?" Peter asked, quickly reaching for the file Jones was holding.

"Interpol just issued a warrant for Caffrey for breaking into the Amalienborg Palace in Copenhagen," Jones replied while Peter scanned the information in the file that was pretty scarce.

"Goddammit!" Peter swore under his breath. They had been just that one step behind again, and now, with 4,000 miles between them, their options were limited. "What did he steal?"

"They won't say, probably because they don't have any real evidence." Jones paused. "But word on the street is that he stole some kind of Russian music box."

Peter's brow furrowed. "A music box?" That didn't sound like something that was worth all this risk.

"Not _a_ music box, _the_ music box," El spoke up for the first time. "It belonged to Catherine the Great and stood in the famous Amber Room in St. Petersburg. The Germans supposedly stole it in 1941. No one really knows what happened to it since then. I'm pretty sure it's quite priceless by now."

Peter took a moment to smile at his beautiful, smart wife before he turned back to Jones. "Get me everything on that box and make sure Interpol has all of Caffrey's known aliases. If he has that thing and he knows they have a warrant out, he's not going to stick around Copenhagen. Most likely, he's already long gone. But if they have any idea where he might go next, they need to tell us."

"I'm on it." Jones set down his coffee cup and was about to leave when he seemed to remember something. "Oh, and one more thing." He reached into the bag he had with him and pulled out the box with the cookies from this morning. "The lab finished testing it. They didn't find any new DNA evidence, and the cookies are just cookies. Would be a shame to let them go to waste. It is your birthday, after all."

Jones grinned and handed Peter the box. "Thanks, Jones," he sighed.

"I'll let you know if I find anything else," the younger agent said and headed for the door.

"Yes, but Jones? Tomorrow will be fine."

"Got it," Jones nodded. "Thanks for the coffee."

Peter turned back towards El. "So... about that cookie you wanted earlier?"

She laughed. "Not before dinner," she said and took the box away from him.

So they had dinner first and then settled on the couch. Dinner had been so delicious that Peter had almost forgotten all about the damn cookies by then. But El was curious and insisted on finally tasting them.

"These are exactly as good as they look," she said, almost a little bit in awe. "Is there anything this guy can't do?"

"There's no actual proof that he baked them himself," Peter reminded her. "He is a con man, after all."

El simply ignored him. "You should ask him to send us oatmeal cookies next time. I hear those are really big in Scandinavia. And have him include the recipe."

"Really? So now my wife and the international world-class forger and thief I've been trying to arrest for over a year are swapping recipes? Not funny, El."

"Well, honey, you spent the day chasing after a man who sent you perfectly good birthday cookies, leaving me to babysit our lovesick dog, while Caffrey was across the Atlantic and stole a music box from Catherine the Great. That has to be either funny or sad."

Peter sighed and put an arm around her. "I'm sorry I ruined... my own birthday."

"Technically, it's not over yet," El said, resting her head on his shoulder.

A grin spread across his face. "I thought I had forfeited my birthday privileges?"

"Mm-hmm, but before you did that, I promised you there would be a 'later.'" El lifted her head to look into his eyes. "It's later now."

And just like that Peter changed his mind about not loving his birthday.

* * *

When the phone rang, Elizabeth knew right away that something was wrong about that. But it took her a little longer to realize that she was in bed, had probably been asleep, and that, judging from the darkness and her complete exhaustion, it was still the middle of the night. She knew it had been a mistake to put a phone in the bedroom. But with a husband who needed to be reachable in case of an emergency...

Except, her husband was clearly not picking up the phone because it was still ringing. Elizabeth turned her head and groaned. Peter wasn't answering the phone because he wasn't in bed. His side of the bed was empty and looked like it hadn't been slept in all night. Elizabeth remembered that she had been too tired to wait up for him any longer and so she had gone to bed before he had come home. Which meant she now had to answer the phone because it was probably Peter on the other end or...

No, anything else she did not want to think about.

Elizabeth rolled onto Peter's side of the bed so she could reach for the phone that stood on his bedside table.

"Hello?" she mumbled as she sank back into the pillows.

" _Oh, hello, who's this?"_ a man's voice answered. Elizabeth didn't recognize it, and it was definitely not Peter.

"Elizabeth Burke," she replied. "Who's this?"

" _Let's say I'm an admirer of your husband's work. Is he there?"_

"No, he's at work," she said, too tired to think about whether she should reveal that information to a stranger on the telephone.

Not that he sounded dangerous. _"This late at night? Oh, wow, I'm so sorry."_

Elizabeth frowned. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

" _Because that's probably my fault. It must be hard to be married to an FBI agent."_

"Are you a marriage counselor or a psychiatrist?" Elizabeth asked, increasingly confused by this strange conversation and not sure why her overtired brain wasn't simply telling her to hang up.

Whomever she was talking to laughed, and it was a very pleasant sound. Perhaps that was why. _"I've been called and accused of being a lot of things but not that, I'm afraid. I'm a very good listener, though, if you'd like to get something off your chest."_

"Have you ever been married?" Elizabeth asked.

" _No, can't say that I have."_

"Or been in a serious, committed relationship?"

" _I'm currently involved in something that feels rather serious and I know for a fact that we are both very committed."_ For some reason he seemed to find that funny. _"But it's not going to work out."_

"Why not?" she asked, not sure why she cared.

" _Because we want very different things."_

Elizabeth held the phone to her other ear so she could roll onto her side. "Perhaps you could compromise on what it is you really want."

" _Is that how you make your marriage work?"_ he asked, sounding honestly curious.

"No, we always wanted the same thing."

" _And what's that?"_

"What most people want. To be happy and to have someone to share that happiness with," Elizabeth answered because that didn't seem like a big secret.

" _Ah, but how to find that happiness in the first place. Isn't that the question?"_ he countered.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. "Not if you find the right person, the one for whom you never have to change and who loves you, even when you don't always deserve it."

There was a short pause. _"Thank you, I think I understand now."_

"What do you understand?"

" _What your husband is fighting for."_

"Is that why you wanted to talk to Peter?" Elizabeth wondered.

" _No, I just wanted to say hello,"_ he replied lightly. _"Perhaps you can do that for me. Don't worry. Peter knows my name,"_ he assured her. _"I'm very sorry for waking you, but it was lovely talking to you. I hope you have a good night and sweet dreams, Elizabeth Burke."_

And the line went dead.

Elizabeth stared blankly into the dark empty space of the bedroom for a moment. Then she finally shook off her sleepiness like a blanket and sat up in bed, hitting speed dial on the phone.

" _Honey, it's past two a.m. Why are you up?"_ Peter answered his phone fairly quickly, which meant that he was probably sitting alone at his desk, as the only one still in the office, perhaps in the entire building.

So Elizabeth replied, "I could ask you the same thing."

" _I'm sorry. I got caught up,"_ was Peter's nondescript answer. _"Is something wrong?"_

"No, but I think I just talked to Neal."

There was a long pause on the other end. _"You just talked to Neal,"_ Peter then repeated slowly, still processing. _"Neal as in... Neal Caffrey?"_

"How many other Neals are currently taking over our life?" Elizabeth deadpanned.

Peter didn't bother with an answer. _"How?"_

"He called the landline. I thought it might be you, so I picked up."

" _And you're sure it was him?"_ Peter asked, ever suspicious.

"He never actually said his name, but he called himself an admirer of your work and assumed that it was his fault that you're working late. He asked me to say hello to you for him and said you would know his name," Elizabeth repeated the most telling aspects of their conversation.

It was enough to convince Peter. _"Son of a bitch!"_ he hissed. _"Are you okay?"_

"Honey, it was just a phone call," Elizabeth tried to calm him down.

" _In the middle of the night to my house where my wife was sleeping..."_ Peter was still seething.

"Well, he wanted to talk to you, if that makes you feel any better."

She could hear Peter take a breath. _"What did you talk about?"_

"About you and me, and you and him... I'm not really sure," Elizabeth admitted.

" _Honey, tell me you remember more than that,"_ Peter urged her.

"He had a very nice voice."

There was a short pause. _"Okay, let me rephrase that. Tell me you remember something useful, honey."_

Elizabeth huffed. "He knew exactly how late it was here, but he didn't sound tired at all. He was perfectly relaxed and very inquisitive. He seemed very interested in getting to know you better, learn more about you, but on his terms. He never gave a straight answer to any question. It was mostly quiet on his end, so I'm guessing he was indoors. I think he had a window open, though, because I heard a siren once in the background. Nothing I've ever heard before, so he probably wasn't calling from the states."

" _That's great, El. Could you come in tomorrow, so we can try to identify exactly what kind of siren you heard?"_

"Is there a free lunch with my husband in it for me?"

Peter chuckled. _"Whatever you want, hon."_

"Promises, promises..." Elizabeth teased.

His laughter faded and he sounded serious again when he asked, _"What did you tell Caffrey about me?"_

"Nothing, really. That you are still at work and how that doesn't change my love for you. He seemed very interested in what constitutes a happy relationship."

" _Sounds like you had quite the conversation."_

"Well, he hung up before I could ask about the cookie recipe," Elizabeth quipped.

Peter didn't seem to find that very amusing. _"Did you see the number he was calling from?"_

"I didn't recognize it. Something international probably. And please don't ask me to remember the numbers. It's almost three in the morning, hon!"

" _You're right. Don't worry about it. I'll just check our phone records. I'm sorry, El. I'll make him pay for waking you,"_ Peter promised her.

Elizabeth shrugged. "He already apologized for that. He was actually very polite, kind of sweet even. He wished me sweet dreams."

Peter was anything but charmed. _"I'm going to kill him,"_ he muttered.

"Okay, hon, but will you please come home first? A couple hours of sleep won't help Neal run any further than he already has."

Peter hesitated but not for long. _"I'm leaving now. Just go back to sleep."_

She didn't. Not really, not until Peter finally crawled into bed, wrapped an arm around her, and buried his face in her hair.

"You're still awake," he mumbled.

"I wanted to make sure you're okay," Elizabeth replied softly.

"Me? You're the one fielding late-night phone calls from criminals."

Elizabeth turned around to be able to look at her husband. "I don't think he's a bad guy, honey."

Peter sighed. "I know."

"You're still going to catch him," Elizabeth said.

Peter pressed a kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes. "I know."

* * *

He was awake after the first ring. Peter had been waiting for this to happen and so his sleep had been light for weeks. Part of him had realized that he might be torturing himself for nothing, but he had known in his gut that Caffrey would try to call again. And this time he was prepared.

Quickly and quietly, Peter grabbed the phone and the equipment he had set aside for this exact moment and snuck out of the bed and the room, so El, who had begun to stir, could hopefully go right back to sleep this time.

She was a real trooper in all of this. She always had been, but this was next level. Knowing that El could take it allowed Peter to keep up this relentless pursuit, to go down that rabbit hole, trusting that he would always find his way back to her. Still, his first instinct was to shield her from it as much as possible. And he'd be damned if he let her be at the receiving end of another late-night phone call.

Down in the kitchen, Peter booted up the laptop to record the conversation and start a trace. The laptop's response was agonizingly slow, so Peter held up the phone to his ear before Caffrey could hang up again.

"Just so you know, I'll be changing my number after this," he said by way of greeting.

" _No, you won't, because then you'd be missing out on the chance of trying to trace this call,"_ Caffrey replied cleverly.

Peter stared glumly at the laptop that still wasn't ready. "I don't need to trace it. I already know where you are," he replied, exaggerating ever so slightly. They had narrowed it down to France, which was still like looking for a Caffrey-sized needle in a haystack of 62 million people.

" _Did Elizabeth tell you?"_ Caffrey asked brazenly.

Peter's nostrils flared. "Don't you dare talk about my wife!"

" _Relax, Peter. The other night was an accident, a happy one, I would have to say, but still. How was I supposed to know you wouldn't be in bed with your lovely wife at that hour of night?"_

"What exactly do you want, Caffrey?" Peter asked, refusing to let Caffrey bait him further, even or especially when it was about El.

" _I don't want anything from you. I think you want something from me, and usually, when someone is that interested in me, I would at least buy them a drink..."_

"Sure, come to New York and the Bureau would love to take you up on that offer. It would be on the house," Peter replied drily.

Caffrey laughed. _"No offense, but I'm not much of a beer or boxed wine guy."_

"Oh no, you have expensive tastes. Must be exhausting to pay for it all. Oh, wait, you don't pay."

" _I sense a certain discontent, Peter. You know if you're having monetary problems, I'd be glad to help you out."_

The laptop was finally ready and Peter started the program to begin the trace. "Yeah? Got any more of those fake British pounds lying around?"

" _Now, now, Peter, I wasn't talking about that kind of help because you know as well as I do that counterfeiting is illegal,"_ Caffrey replied smoothly, too smart to admit to anything on the record. But it was worth the try.

"Unless you're so good that no one could ever tell the difference, right?" Peter pushed.

" _But where would be the fun in that?"_ Caffrey chuckled.

Peter stared at the laptop, willing it to work faster. "That's what this is really all about, isn't it?"

" _Why, Agent Burke, are you not having fun?"_

Standing barefoot in his kitchen in the middle of the night, waiting to see how close Caffrey would cut it to the average time needed to trace a phone call, was something all right. Peter just wasn't sure if fun was the right word for it.

" _How about this? I'll give you three questions,"_ Caffrey offered. _"If I can answer them truthfully, I will, if not, I'll just hang up."_

More games. But anything that prolonged this conversation was fine with Peter. "How do I know you're not lying about telling the truth?"

" _Choose wisely,"_ Caffrey said simply.

"Do you really speak eight languages?" Peter started off easy.

" _I do. Learning a language is like making love. You need to be passionate about it, but you also have to know how to pace yourself. Do you know how to pace yourself, Peter?"_ Caffrey teased.

"I'm not the one answering the questions," Peter said, shaking his head and ignoring Caffrey's antics. They were just a front for how smart and calculating he really was – had to be with that level of intelligence.

"Would you stop doing what you're doing if I were to stop chasing you?" he asked next.

" _What's that? Reverse psychology? I think you can do better than that, Peter. Also, don't flatter yourself,"_ Caffrey scoffed.

"Then why are you really calling me?" Peter wanted to know.

This time, there was a short pause. _"Well, I might just like you, Peter, and I don't think anyone's ever cared this much before."_

"I care about putting you behind bars," Peter clarified.

" _I guess that's my cue. Any talk about jail time usually marks the end of a conversation for me,"_ Caffrey said. _"Goodbye for now, Peter. Until next time."_

Before Peter could say anything else, Caffrey had already hung up.

On the laptop, a large red circle that covered almost all of Western Europe pulsated one more time and then disappeared.

* * *

"Broken up or not, I want to keep eyes on her. It took us months to find her and she might still be our best bet to figure out if and when he comes back to New York, should he contact her in any way. If Hughes wants us to conserve resources, we can stop fishing around Monterey Bay... Okay, Jones, I'll be in the office soon."

Peter got off the phone when he saw El coming down the stairs. With too much on his mind, he hadn't been able to sleep and gotten up early, walked Satchmo, and made some breakfast. Of course, by now, the breakfast table was covered with case files.

"Good morning, hon," he said while he tried to make some room for her at the table.

El gave him a long, slightly disconcerting look before she came to stand behind his chair. "How's Neal doing?" she asked while she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Being digested by a shark," Peter replied, heaving a sigh.

"What?"

"He faked his death – again," Peter explained.

El straightened up again. "How do you know it's fake?" When Peter just gave her an incredulous look, she shrugged her shoulders. "It would be a very colorful way to go for a very colorful guy."

"Gored by a great white shark?" Peter read the 'official' cause of death off the fake death certificate. "Yeah, he's making fun of me."

"Or complimenting you," El suggested. "Who are Steve Tabernacle and Nick Halden?" she asked after scanning the mess of files on the table and bending down to scratch Satchmo's ears, who was lying happily at Peter's feet. When Peter didn't respond right away, El answered her own question. "Let me guess. Also Neal?"

"Yup."

She walked over to the coffee machine to get herself a fresh cup of coffee. "Wow, being a con artist is a full-time job, huh?"

"Well, he'll have lots of time off in prison," Peter said drily.

El smiled softly and picked up the mail he had dumped on the kitchen counter earlier. "You were up early this morning," she said.

"Couldn't sleep. Hughes doesn't think shark maulings and a potpourri of ever new aliases are particularly funny."

"Is he giving you a hard time because you haven't caught Caffrey yet?"

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "He's certainly not happy about it."

When El didn't respond, he turned around in his chair and saw that she was preoccupied with a card that must have been in the mail. Whatever it was, it seemed to elicit a wide and conflicting range of emotions and, judging from El's facial expression, not all of them good.

"Everything okay, honey?" Peter asked, slightly worried. Something about this morning suddenly felt off to him.

The look his wife gave him did nothing to ease his concern. "If by okay you mean that I sometimes feel like I'm living with my dog, my absentee husband, and a con man who is a lot more involved in my life than my husband."

"What?" was Peter's shocked and rather ingenious response.

"Here, you should really read your mail, honey," El said, but the familiar term of endearment sounded a little less endearing than usual when she walked back over to the table to hand him the card.

By now, Peter had a fairly good idea of what to expect, so the handwriting came as no surprise to him.

 _Dear Peter and Elizabeth,_

 _Happy Anniversary! Did you know that Nietzsche said that 'it is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages'? Here's to you always being the best of friends, true partners in crime, and thick as thieves... Really, no pun intended._

 _Neal Caffrey_

 _PS: Peter, you should take your wife to Buenos Aires – it really is the 'Paris of South America.'_

There had been numerous occasions when Peter had felt the urge to find Caffrey for the sole purpose of wringing his neck. This one had just trumped them all.

Technically, it wasn't Caffrey's fault that Peter had gotten his dates mixed up and had been unaware that today was the 19th already. But the only thing worse than being a husband who forgot his wedding anniversary was to have a cocky bastard of a criminal show him up for it.

"El…" he began, not exactly sure how to continue.

"It's okay," she cut him off anyway. "I never thought we'd have lots of time today. So go check if Neal really is in Buenos Aires."

Peter sighed. "He isn't. And he's not in Monterey or in the belly of a shark either. He's just messing with me. But that shouldn't include you. I'm sorry, honey," he said, reaching out for her hand.

She let him hold it, but shook her head. "If he's messing with you, he's messing with us. And I think it's time that he learns what that means. Honey, you know everything about him from the size of his shoes to how he dots his i's and crosses his t's. And you have a room full of Quantico's supposedly best and brightest to help you figure out the rest. I realize this world is bigger than a map in your conference room, but you're the FBI. You can stop him, and I know you know how. You just have to put the pieces together."

"On our anniversary?" Peter asked somewhat stupidly.

"All the more reason to celebrate." El shrugged her shoulders, though she wasn't actually indifferent about this. She was making a choice to put her support of him and his mission to find Caffrey above all else.

Peter leaned in closer, now holding her hand in both of his. "It is not okay, El, and I swear to you I will put an end to this. Perhaps not tonight, though, because I will be home to pick you up at seven sharp."

El frowned. "Pick me up to go where?"

"The Blue Sunrise." It was Manhattan's hottest new restaurant, labeled 'must have been there at least once in your life,' because apparently, the food was to die for. Or so Peter had been told repeatedly.

"Oh, honey, it's impossible to get a table there," El said with a sad little smile. "Even for the FBI."

"Not if you make a reservation a year in advance," Peter replied and felt a little less inadequate when El's eyes widened in surprise, followed by her first genuine smile today, when she realized what he was saying. "Honey, I'm sorry for burying us and our anniversary in all of this," he pointed at the work files on the table, "and dropping the ball this morning. But I could never get in so deep that I would actually forget the day you made me who I am."

"You mean an exhaustingly relentless and incredibly passionate man with occasional tunnel vision?" El said teasingly.

"Yes, incredibly passionate about you," Peter said and kissed her to prove it.

When his lips throbbed pleasantly, he let go, and El rested her forehead against his. She was smiling, even while she directed her eyes back towards Caffrey's card.

"Are you really not going to check if he's in Buenos Aires?" she asked.

"No, he was probably there at some point, but I'm sure he's back in the states by now."

"It's a shame, really. I wouldn't have minded a trip to the 'Paris of South America,'" El joked, though it probably wasn't really a joke.

"Then I guess we know what to do after I catch him," Peter replied.

"Then you better get back to work and prove this right," El said and put a new mug in front of him that had the FBI logo on it and said 'World's Best FBI Agent.'

Peter laughed when he saw that. "Where did you get that?"

El shrugged. "It's just a gag gift, really, but at the same time it isn't, because I do believe it to be true, and no one, no Neal Caffrey, Nick Halden, or Steve Tabernacle, will prove me wrong."

Peter smiled at her.

Because that was the best gift of them all.

"Happy anniversary, hon."

* * *

He shouldn't be here.

He loved to break rules and flirt with danger, but this wasn't just taking a risk. This was an as of yet unheard of stupidity of unrivaled and potentially disastrous proportions – or so he had been told.

But he couldn't help himself. He was curious.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my friend," he had also been told, "or in this case, the internationally wanted con man who flew too close to the sun, aka the house of the FBI agent chasing him around the world."

He couldn't argue with that, except he wasn't entirely sure who was the cat and who was the mouse in this game he and the FBI agent were playing. He only knew that he wanted to see his face again. The first time they had met outside that bank neither one of them had really known what the hell they were doing. Now, all those phone calls, postcards, birthday presents, and arrest warrants later, they were as close as two people who had never been in the same room together could be.

And now that he was back in New York, he needed to think carefully about his next move. So maybe he was standing here on the very street the FBI agent lived to prove to himself that he could.

Still, he was here to see, not to be seen, and was smart enough to take a step back when the agent came down the street now.

He wasn't alone. He was with his wife, and he had his dog on a leash. It looked like they were coming home from a walk. It was like a textbook example of domesticity.

The dog was some kind of Retriever, one of those perpetually happy dogs, clearly befitting his owners, who had been married for more than half a decade, had probably known each other for longer, and were still holding hands as if it was the only way they knew how to walk next to each other.

She was talking, telling him some kind of story, it looked like. Something funny because her lips were curled upwards and her eyes bright. And he laughed, loudly and easily, like she was the funniest person in the whole world to him.

When the moment had passed, he leaned in closer and said something to her. It must have been a compliment of some sort because her face lit up with a genuine smile while her cheeks blushed ever so slightly and her pupils dilated with love and affection. He pressed a kiss to her temple, closing his eyes while he did so, as if touching her was the only thing he needed to see.

It was fascinating how attuned to each other they were, probably without even noticing it. When he flexed his fingers because the leash cut into them, she reached out without a word and took the leash from him with her free hand. When the wind picked up and she shivered for a moment, he adjusted the way they were walking, effectively shielding her with his body. And when the dog caught a scent and stopped to investigate, they both paused, looked at each other, and went in for a kiss at the exact same time.

It was barely more than a peck on the lips, perfectly appropriate for standing on a public street corner, and yet the moment felt so intimate, he almost couldn't watch.

He had come here to see the FBI agent in person – keeping a safe distance on the other side of the street – and to see his face, but he had seen a lot more. He realized that he had seen this man's face before. Before he had made the FBI's most wanted list, before that day at the bank even, long before, in a jewelry store.

He had only just run away to New York. He had been young, heartbroken, and confused about where he came from, who he was, and what he was destined to become. And so he had jumped at the chance to help that man who's biggest problem had been to find a ring that matched what was in his heart.

He had helped him find that ring that day and hadn't thought too much of it ever since. But now, today, he saw what had come of it.

A perfect ring and a true love for the ages.

He smiled. He needed to come up with something bigger. Run a con no one had ever tried before or steal something no one had ever dared to take. It might ruin another perfectly lovely weekend for the couple that had just disappeared inside their house. But he could tell that they would be fine.

And he wasn't doing this to get their attention, anyway. He was doing this for her.

Kate.

He didn't know if he and Kate could have a love for the ages, too.

But he was damn sure going to find out.


	24. Most Wanted

Elizabeth had developed a new ritual upon coming home, namely to take a deep breath and brace herself for whatever Neal Caffrey news awaited her – as well as the corresponding mood her husband was in.

Today had actually been a very good day. She had finally found the perfect office space to rent for Burke Premiere Events. At least, Elizabeth thought the place would be perfect. She needed to talk to Peter about it, but she was going to hold off on that in case he was not having a good day.

There had been a couple of those lately. Neal had stepped up his game one more time and stolen a couple of extremely valuable paintings. Well, allegedly stolen. As always, there was no proof and no arrest. One of those paintings had been worth a whopping 15 million dollars. The number alone was a gut punch, and Elizabeth had hated watching Peter stomach that.

In the end, it had only made him more determined. Usually, Elizabeth could tell from the state of their living room and the depth of the frown on Peter's face if the day had been another win for Neal or for her husband.

Today, though, she wasn't sure because she found Jones and a female agent she hadn't seen before packing up evidence. That was a new one.

"What's going on?" she asked when Peter met her at the door.

"Come with me," he said rather than answer her question and led her upstairs out of earshot from his agents.

He stopped in their bedroom, and Elizabeth could only look at him questioningly, not sure what it meant that Peter was holding on to her hands and needed a moment before he spoke again.

"We got him, El."

Elizabeth blinked. "Who?" she asked, dumbfounded.

All Peter did was smile at her. She hadn't seen him smile like that in a while.

Elizabeth released a breath she had been holding, possibly for years. "You're kidding!"

Peter only shook his head.

After a few seconds of trying to process this on her own, Elizabeth gave up and stepped closer to wrap her arms around her husband's neck. Peter's arms went around her back and he held her only too willingly.

"I don't know what to say," Elizabeth admitted. "I want to say congratulations, but it feels so strange."

She had imagined this moment so many times, and now that it had finally come, she realized that she had never even been close.

"Sometimes it was almost as if he was living in this house with us and now he's going to jail," she said.

"He is," Peter nodded. He sounded a little dazed. This was probably the first moment he had to himself, the first time he didn't need to be calm and collected in front of his agents. The first opportunity to not only be Agent Burke but Peter Burke, who had poured his heart and soul into catching this man and bringing him to justice.

This had to be a lot more emotional for him than it was for her. Elizabeth stepped out of his arms and led him over to the bed to sit with her. She wanted to be able to look at him.

"How did you do it?" she asked.

"I did what you always told me I should do. I figured out what Neal really wanted most," Peter replied.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "I guess it wasn't the 15-million-dollar painting after all?"

"No, it was the woman he loves," Peter told her. "I should have seen that a whole lot sooner," he added, looking at her intently and pressing a kiss to her hand.

She smiled softly. At the same time, Elizabeth could feel a frown crease her forehead. "So you used his girlfriend as bait?"

"We did. And before you give me that look, it was the only way. The only thing we had on him," Peter explained.

Elizabeth nodded. She wasn't really going to criticize. She wouldn't dream of taking this win away from Peter or diminishing it in any way. He had done what he needed to do, she knew that. And now she would do whatever he wanted to do to celebrate.

She squeezed his hand. "So how does it feel, honey?"

"A lot about this isn't cut and dried yet, but I won't lie," Peter said after thinking for a moment. "It feels pretty damn good."

He gave her an almost boyish grin and it opened Elizabeth's heart to see him like that. "You deserve it, hon," she said happily and rested a hand on his knee. "So how did Neal take it?" She didn't want to dampen the mood, but she was curious.

Peter didn't seem troubled, though. He snorted. "He shook my hand and thanked me."

"For… arresting him?" Elizabeth asked, confused.

"No, for helping him see Kate again. Turns out, he didn't know where she was. So he needed the FBI to lead him to her," Peter explained. "Honestly, I think he knew exactly what he was walking into. He's too smart not to at least have suspected it. But he just really wanted to see her."

Stunned, Elizabeth took that in. "Wow, that's… really beautiful."

"What's beautiful is you, El," Peter replied earnestly. "I know this was hard for you at times and I haven't always been the husband you deserve, but I couldn't have done it without you."

Elizabeth smiled just a little bit teary-eyed and cupped his cheek before she leaned in for a kiss. "Another win for team Burke," she whispered.

Peter grinned and played with a strand of her hair before pushing it back behind her ear. "Not just yet. We still need to prove this in court."

"You have boxes full of evidence," Elizabeth said, pointing vaguely towards the door, where Peter's agents were working downstairs.

"Yeah, we're getting everything together, but a lot of it is circumstantial or based on my gut, which unfortunately won't hold up in court. We have him on the bonds, but everything else is going to be a fight."

"Well, you did everything you could, honey. You did your job. The rest is up to the lawyers," Elizabeth said, patting his leg.

Peter nodded, but she could tell that he wasn't ready to let this go. He always saw his cases through to the very end, getting just as invested in the court proceedings as in the investigation. He couldn't actually prosecute the criminals he arrested, but he came as close to it as he could, working with the lawyers. If at all possible, Peter made sure that his evidence and his testimony were airtight.

So Elizabeth wasn't surprised when he said, "Still, let's hold off on celebrating, okay? I don't want to jinx it."

"Of course. Whatever you want, hon," she agreed. "But no matter what happens, this is still your win. You caught him. You caught Neal Caffrey."

That dazed little grin was back on his face. "I did, didn't I? Maybe we could celebrate a little."

"I might know just the place," Elizabeth said.

Peter grimaced. "Is it sushi? Please tell me it's not sushi."

"No sushi," she promised.

There was a knock on the open door and the female agent from downstairs poked her head into the room. She had an apologetic smile on her face.

"Sorry for the interruption, boss. But Caffrey is asking for you, and, apparently, he's very insistent."

Peter sighed. "Of course, he is."

He looked at Elizabeth, who laughed. "You're not going to start asking me for permission now, are you? Go see what Neal wants."

"I'll make it quick. I can meet you after," he offered.

"I'll text you the address," Elizabeth nodded.

They both stood and walked over to the agent by the door. "By the way, El, this is Special Agent Diana Berrigan. Agent Berrigan, this is my wife Elizabeth."

"Nice to meet you," Diana said while they shook hands. She had a firm handshake, but to make it in an all-boys club like the FBI, she probably had to be twice as tough.

"You too. Are you new at White Collar?" Elizabeth asked.

"I am. Never thought my first case would be Neal Caffrey."

"Agent Berrigan actually was the first to suggest that staking out Neal's girlfriend might be a good idea," Peter said, and the way he said it and that he felt it necessary to share this information told Elizabeth that her husband was very impressed with this young woman. "It's what made me realize that Neal didn't know where Kate was."

Diana only shrugged. "All I said was that staking out my girlfriend would be an easy way to find me. I didn't think I was making a brilliant suggestion."

"Maybe that's exactly why it was so brilliant," Peter replied.

Elizabeth looked from one agent to the other. At the FBI, there was a fine line between maintaining certain hierarchies and everybody feeling like one big family. Peter was finding a nice balance with his team, especially Jones and now this Agent Berrigan. Elizabeth was glad to see that, because she knew he would be safe if he had good people who had his back.

"Then maybe you and your girlfriend should have a celebratory dinner with us," Elizabeth suggested. She had to admit that she was curious about this woman and what had made her become an FBI agent.

Both Peter and Diana looked surprised at first. But Peter usually trusted that Elizabeth knew what she was doing when it came to socializing, and Diana seemed to take everything in stride anyway.

"Sure, I'll ask her. She's been complaining that we don't get to go out enough. A nice dinner would be perfect. Not that it would have to be anything fancy..."

Peter chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. Elizabeth is the best cook in the city."

"I most definitely am not," she protested, rolling her eyes at her husband, though she did so with love. "And don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Right, I'll see you later, hon," he said and kissed her on the cheek before he rushed out of the room.

"I'm really glad I get to work with your husband," Diana said while they followed Peter down the stairs more slowly.

Elizabeth smiled at her. "I'm glad he's not alone out there."

"Don't worry. Jones and I will keep an eye on him, well, four, actually," Diana replied. She might be new in the division, but she certainly wasn't shy.

Elizabeth liked her immediately.

"I think that's everything," Jones said when they joined him and several packed boxes in the living room. "We'll be out of your hair now."

"That's all right," Elizabeth told him. "I've gotten so used to all this, I might not even recognize my house without Neal Caffrey in it."

Jones laughed. "I'm sure there'll be another Caffrey. Peter has a knack for finding all the good cases."

Elizabeth smiled while they grabbed their things.

But she was pretty sure there was only one Neal Caffrey.

* * *

Peter arrived back at the FBI building where Caffrey was currently still being held. Any attempts at interrogating him had proven useless so far. It was almost as if he enjoyed the attention, and he used every opportunity to poke fun at everything. He was too smart to give anything away. But Peter knew it was all just a show. Neal knew he was caught and that the odds of him getting out of this scot-free were almost non-existent. This was his way of coping. Or maybe it was just who he was.

In any case, Peter was willing to wait him out because, unlike Neal, he was going home to his beautiful wife tonight and he was going to sleep like a baby. He had all the time in the world to wait and see if Neal was going to say something useful.

"So what is it, Caffrey?" he asked when he walked into the holding cell.

Neal greeted him with a big smile, sitting there like the prophet who had just made the mountain come to him. "I seem to remember that you promised me a drink if I came to the FBI. So, here I am."

Peter made sure to school his features. He was not going to let these shenanigans get to him. He was still the one holding all the cards. "You didn't come to the FBI. I caught you," he pointed out.

"Really, Peter? I didn't take you for a nitpicker. Although you do have the right suits for it."

"If you don't like my suits, you'll be glad to see a lot more orange soon."

Peter turned to leave again when Neal said, "I'm pretty sure you're obligated to keep me hydrated."

"Sure, how does water sound?" Peter asked, turning back around.

"Like I should get more for my tax dollars," Neal replied.

Peter smirked. "You don't pay taxes."

"Then I guess I owe you a drink. To congratulate you on bringing me in," Neal suggested while scooting closer. "My schedule happens to be wide open after my bail hearing."

"You don't honestly think that any judge is going to let you out on bail," Peter scoffed.

Neal turned his smile up a notch. "I can be pretty persuasive."

"So can I. And I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're behind bars," Peter promised while taking a step forward. He was now towering over Neal, who was still sitting down, and yes, it was meant to be a little threatening, just in case Neal entertained any ideas about trying to run.

But Neal wouldn't even flinch. "I'm flattered, Peter, but what would your wife say if you only had eyes for me?"

And just like that, Neal was pushing Peter's buttons again and he knew it. He knew that El was off-limits and therefore a surefire way to get a rise out of Peter.

But Peter swallowed his anger and reminded himself that he didn't need to respond. He was finally truly free to walk away. He had won the game, and he needed to quit while he was ahead.

Saying nothing, Peter headed for the door.

"Peter, wait! I just want to talk to her."

Neal's tone had changed completely. All the mockery and posturing had been stripped away and left it raw and honest. There was no more superiority in his eyes. No more aloofness. This was a man who was truly hurting for the woman he loved.

Or so Peter would have thought if his brain hadn't reminded him that he was dealing with a world-class con artist. Neal was trying to con him, and, in a way, he was still using El to do it. Because if Peter had been in Neal's place, if he had just been arrested in front of El's very own eyes, it would drive him crazy not to be able to talk to her, to explain.

So yeah, Peter felt for the guy. But he was still a criminal. He had made his bed and now he had to lie in it.

"I hear they still allow conjugal visits in prison sometimes," Peter said, though his own words made him grimace.

Neal looked at him coolly. "Being mean is not your style, Peter."

"How would you know that?" Peter asked stubbornly.

"Because I know you," Neal said simply, daring Peter to disagree.

He didn't.

He would have once – when he had still thought he was going to catch a certainly very talented but otherwise ordinary bond forger the minute he got too greedy.

Now, three years later, here they were.

"All I need is a piece of paper," Neal pressed.

And to Peter's horror, he suddenly pulled a pen out of some pocket he shouldn't have to prove it.

"How did you...?" Peter gaped at him in shock before his anger took over. "Give me that!" he said, walked up to Neal and yanked the pen out of his hand. "You're lucky I don't cuff you to a bed!"

"Woah, I didn't mean we know each other that well," Neal teased him again.

Peter fumed.

And they were trapped in a vicious circle.

Except, this time Peter wasn't sure if he was angry with Neal or mad at his agents for not noticing that he had stolen a pen from one of them. And who knew what else.

Not that he could actually use it. Neal wasn't getting out of this room.

But Peter definitely had to.

"We both know you still owe me," Neal called.

"Owe you? I spent three years of my life chasing you. You had this coming!" Peter assured him.

"Not for this." Neal shook his head, allowing for a pregnant pause. "For having the perfect wife with the perfect ring."

Peter stared at him.

And stared.

Neal gave him his biggest, most charming smile yet.

And there it was. The one thing Peter had never been able to place about Neal. This familiarity that shouldn't have been there. That he could never explain, because no, there was no way he had seen that face before and forgotten about it.

But he had. On one of those rare days when he hadn't been an FBI agent. When he hadn't been on the lookout for a case or anything suspicious. When he had been focused on only one goal: not to let the best thing that had ever happened to him slip through his fingers.

And he hadn't. But he had missed something else of almost equal proportions.

"I don't believe this," Peter muttered.

Neal didn't bother to hide a smirk. "I get that a lot."

"Did you know who I was?"

"Sure, I did. You were a man who had absolutely no idea how to pick the right engagement ring."

"I did... know... how... in theory," Peter finished lamely.

"Uh-huh." Neal arched an eyebrow. "Elizabeth would have hated those rings you were looking at before I stopped you, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, she would have."

Neal held up his hand. "You're welcome."

Peter made a face. "Great, and here I thought having you in my life for three years was bad enough."

"Come on, Peter. What's a little piece of paper in exchange for help while going ring shopping between friends?"

"We're not friends, Neal."

"Okay, but if you ask me, it looks like our paths were always meant to cross," Neal said with what Peter was beginning to think of as his signature grin.

"Shut up!" Peter replied with what he was beginning to think of as his standard answer.

* * *

El had texted him an address, just like she had said. An address. Not the name of a restaurant. Probably because there was no restaurant or anything else that looked like his wife might be there, which confused the hell out of Peter at first. But he refused to call her and ask where she was because he couldn't find her.

He would never live that down.

Peter looked at the address on his phone again and stopped outside an empty storefront. This was definitely it. It made no sense, but he decided to try the door anyway. It opened and Peter stepped inside.

He stood in a long, dark room that, as far as he could tell with the little light that filtered in from the street through the large windows, was every bit as empty as it had looked from outside.

"El?" Peter asked, feeling a bit stupid. He really didn't want to deal with a trespassing charge right now.

A door opened somewhere in the back and his wife appeared. A candle she was holding allowed Peter to see the smile on her face. "Hey, hon."

"You know when I said no sushi, I didn't mean no chairs either," he told her.

"Too bad because I thought we could do without them for tonight," El replied and held out her hand to him.

Peter walked over to her and looked past her into the next room. It was a little smaller and didn't have a view of the street, which made it more private. Which was probably why El had lit a bunch of candles in there that illuminated a picknick blanket on the floor, a couple of pillows, two glasses and a bottle of wine, and food in little lunch boxes.

He obviously got the idea, but... he still didn't get it. "What is all this?" he had to ask.

"This is or will be the back office and storage room of Burke Premiere Events. At least, it could be," El explained.

Peter's eyes widened when things finally began to make sense, and he took in his surroundings through a whole new lens. "You found an office space."

"I think so, yes. I know it's dark now, but those windows are beautiful, and there is so much light in here during the day. I could use all this wall space to display different flower arrangements and place settings and chairs, so my clients can get some inspiration. There's room for everything else right here in the back, and there's also a small kitchen. And obviously, the location is just perfect." The excitement in El's voice was unmistakable.

"Sounds like it's exactly what you've been looking for," Peter noted. "How expensive is it?"

"It's not cheap. But if I move in here, Burke Premiere Events will be a lot more visible, too, so I think it's worth it."

Peter couldn't argue with that. El had been very busy with clients lately, and Peter had looked at the books she was keeping every now and then (only when El had asked him to do so, of course), so he knew that his wife was doing extremely well. Of course, being self-employed meant that this could change fast. Keeping the business alive was dependent on always finding new clients. But so far, El handled that pressure with ease. She even seemed to enjoy the challenge – which was something Peter could relate to only too well. Renting an office would only make her more determined.

"If it feels right to you, El, then you should do it," he said.

El smiled and squeezed his hand. "The realtor let me have the key so I could show it to you. And I thought it would be the perfect place to have this little, very cautious celebration we talked about." She led him over to the blanket.

"Well, if we didn't have enough reason to celebrate before, we certainly have now," Peter said while he sat down. "This looks great, hon," he added when he saw how much food she had prepared.

"I'd be a pretty sorry excuse for an event planner if I couldn't whip up an indoor picknick," she replied with a shrug and a smile. "So what did Neal want?"

Peter sighed. "Nothing. He was under the insane illusion that he would get released on bail."

"He's not?" Elizabeth asked.

"No," Peter snorted. "He's like the textbook definition of a flight risk." He reached for the bottle of wine, but it wasn't open yet.

"Hold on, I think I left the corkscrew in the kitchen somewhere," El said and got up to go look for it.

Peter was left sitting alone in this romantic little bubble she had created for them. It got him thinking about the envelope he was carrying in his jacket pocket. He took it out and looked at it. In the candlelight, he could just make out the name 'Kate.'

He had caved and let Neal write that letter. And now he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"I thought now that you've caught Neal, I would stop finding you staring at things." El returned and pulled him back out of his thoughts.

"He's not in jail yet," Peter replied.

El reached for the wine glasses to pour them both a glass. "But you just said that he's not going to get out on bail."

"He's not, which is why he's getting on my nerves. He wants me to give this letter to Kate," Peter explained.

El's eyes went to the envelope in his hands and she seemed to understand what was going on. She set down the wine bottle. "Honey, you can't read that. It's private."

Peter laughed softly. "There is no privacy in jail, hon. That's what you get for breaking the law."

"What about human decency? How would you feel if you wrote a love letter to me and the FBI read it first?" El asked, trying very artfully to turn the tables on him, but he refused to go there.

"I'm not the one under arrest and I have no intentions of that ever happening. Plus, Neal knows we're not just going to give him free rein. If he put anything important in here, it's going to be in code."

El frowned. "I have a feeling we have very different interpretations of what's 'important' to Kate right now, but if you think there's code in that letter..."

"I know there is," Peter interjected.

"... then why are you even considering giving it to her?" she wanted to know.

Peter's eyes dropped from his wife's face to her hands, specifically the rings on her finger. He looked at them hesitantly. There were no secrets between them, but this time, he just couldn't bring himself to confess that a criminal had helped him pick out her engagement ring. It wasn't the embarrassment. El was the only person he would have been willing to share that with. But he wanted her to remember their engagement Caffrey-free. He had already taken over too much of their life. At least, right now. Perhaps someday.

Peter lifted his eyes back to El's. "Neal made a compelling argument," he answered vaguely.

Like the wonderful woman that she was, El didn't press the matter. "Hon, I know Neal and Kate are not us, but if you were to be taken from me, I would do anything to get that letter," she said simply and leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

"You make a rather compelling argument, too," Peter said hoarsely and put the envelope back in his jacket pocket.

El laughed and picked up the wine glasses, handing one to him. "Then let's toast. To closing your biggest case."

"To opening your new office," Peter replied, and they clinked glasses.

He took a sip of the wine while El opened the many boxes of food.

"Honey, are you okay?" she asked after a while.

Apparently, Peter had stared into space for a moment too long. He took his wife's hand. "Yes, there's just this one thing that I hadn't expected in all of this."

"What's that?" El asked.

Peter gave her a sheepish little smile. "I actually kind of like him."

* * *

"Please state your name and occupation for the court."

"My name is Sara Ellis. I'm an insurance investigator with Sterling Bosch."

Peter leaned forward in his seat in the courtroom while he watched Sara Ellis' testimony unfold. His focus was split, though, between the redheaded woman and Neal. Sara Ellis looked determined, Neal had a slight frown on his face.

"Could you explain what an insurance investigator does?" The federal prosecutor asked for the benefit of the jury.

"I investigate insurance claims that are suspicious in any way, and in case of a theft I try to recover the insured object if at all possible."

"Now what does that have to do with Neal Caffrey?" The prosecutor asked, pointing at Neal for dramatic effect, Peter supposed.

Sara didn't seem to mind and made sure that she spoke directly into the microphone. "He stole a painting that was insured by Sterling Bosch."

"Which painting?"

"Raphael's 'St. George and the Dragon,'" Sara replied.

The prosecutor held up a copy of the painting. Visual aids for the jury. "Is that the painting?"

"Yes," Sara confirmed.

"Tell me, Ms. Ellis, how much is this painting worth?"

Again, Sara enunciated every syllable. "15 million dollars."

Some people in the courtroom gasped, others started murmuring. Peter wasn't sure why. Neal's trial was turning into somewhat of a spectacle. This was hardly the most shocking crime he stood accused of, although it might have been the flashiest.

"Just to clarify. This is only a replica of the real painting," the prosecutor continued. "Or did you recover the painting, Ms. Ellis?"

"No, I did not," she replied, her eyes practically shooting daggers at Neal, who only cocked an eyebrow.

Things only got worse from there. When Neal's lawyer went in for the cross-examination, he started poking very deliberate holes in Sara's reasoning as to why Neal was the most likely, the only suspect in the theft. Sara did her best to refute the lawyer's claims, but the hard evidence simply wasn't there. Peter knew exactly how she felt. The same thing had happened to him during his testimony earlier. This defense attorney was good. He knew that reasonable doubt was a lot easier to create than to erase from the hearts and minds of the jury.

And then, Neal's lawyer went on the offensive. "Isn't it true, Ms. Ellis, that you receive a certain percentage of the total value of the recovered object as a finder's fee?"

"Yes, that is true," Sara was forced to admit.

"So in this case that would be what? Six figures? More than that?"

Sara was smart enough not to answer that, even before the prosecutor jumped in, "Objection, Your Honor."

"Apologies," Neal's lawyer quickly relented, only to add, "But I'm sure with a number like that we can all understand why Ms. Ellis is so quick to point fingers at Mr. Caffrey, even though there's no concrete evidence."

The prosecutor opened his mouth to object again, but this time Sara couldn't keep quiet. "This is not just about the money. Sterling Bosch is an insurance company, yes, but we do care about the art we insure. It is hard enough to get people and especially kids to appreciate the value of such pieces, but it is absolutely impossible to do so when they get stolen by a psychopath like Neal Caffrey, who cares more about his ego than the rest of the world."

There was complete silence in the courtroom after that little outburst. Peter finally understood why Sara Ellis had been so eager to testify, while Neal just sat there, mouthing the word 'psychopath,' looking equally incredulous and offended.

Meanwhile, Sara was allowed to step down and take her seat again.

"The prosecution would like to call Agent Burke back to the stand," the prosecutor announced to the judge and the rest of the court.

Peter froze for a second. After his original testimony the federal prosecutor had reserved the right to recall him since he was the primary witness in this case, but they had only briefly discussed it during lunch. And Peter hated taking the stand not knowing what he was supposed to say. Lawyers were a lot like agents during an interrogation. One wrong word from the witness/suspect, one whiff of blood in the water, and they pounced.

But he didn't have a choice. He wasn't the one in charge anymore, so he stood and took Sara's place.

"Agent Burke, we have already heard your testimony as the case agent this morning. But please remind us again how long you have been investigating Mr. Caffrey," the prosecutor began.

"Three years," Peter replied, sticking to the basics of giving testimony. Only answer exactly what you have been asked. Don't volunteer any information beyond that.

"Three years? Is that a normal time frame for a white-collar investigation?"

"No, it isn't," Peter replied simply, hoping the prosecutor would steer clear of making the FBI look incompetent.

"Isn't this in fact the longest investigation you have ever conducted?"

"Yes."

"And how long have you been working for the FBI?"

Before Peter could answer, Neal's lawyer spoke up, "As fascinating as this is, is this line of questioning going to lead us to anything related to these proceedings?"

Secretly, Peter was wondering the same thing.

To his credit, the prosecutor wasn't rattled. "Your Honor, the jury should be given the chance to evaluate Agent Burke's testimony appropriately."

The judge nodded. "Go ahead and answer the question, Agent Burke."

"Eight years."

"So, given your experience as a White Collar agent and the length of this particular investigation, is it fair to say that you're the expert in all things Neal Caffrey?"

Peter shot the prosecutor an annoyed look. What a sloppy question was that? Peter looked from the prosecutor to the defendant table. Neal flashed him a grin.

"No two investigations are ever the same, but I did learn everything there was to learn about Neal Caffrey within the scope of this investigation," he replied eventually.

"Based on that, how were you then able to connect all these crimes – from the bond forgery to the stolen Raphael – to the defendant?"

Finally, Peter began to understand that the prosecutor was trying to convince the jury to look past some of the missing evidence and basically take his word for it instead.

"White-collar crimes aren't about brute force or spur-of-the-moment lapses in judgment. Typically, they are carefully thought out and planned in advance, and most perpetrators walk just enough inside the law that it is difficult to catch them when they step outside of it. But the more often they do it, the more they leave a signature behind, like an individual piece of handwriting. Caffrey's signature is to build on his previous crimes and then escalate them into what feels to him like a bigger challenge. But always with a certain ingenuity and texture that sets them apart."

"Texture? What does that mean in this context?" The prosecutor asked.

"Well, if you compare the forged Incorporated Atlantic bonds to the counterfeit pound bills, they both have a security strip. It's a perfect forgery on both of them, and they are exactly the same."

"That doesn't happen unless they were forged by the same person?" The prosecutor clarified.

Peter nodded. "It's comparable to a fingerprint."

"But you only got him on camera for the bond forgery."

"Because he learned to avoid them after that time."

"How about the stolen Raphael?" The prosecutor circled back. "There's no evidence. The painting hasn't resurfaced, the cameras in the museum were put on a loop during the theft, and the fact that Mr. Caffrey looked at the painting the day before in a gallery that is open to the public isn't a crime."

"It is when you're a suspected art thief who's banned from entering said gallery. He wasn't looking at the painting, he was casing the place. And the painting hasn't resurfaced because Caffrey wouldn't just fence it. He would make copies of it first and then sell those, but there was no more time for that before his arrest."

"How do you know Mr. Caffrey would have been planning on selling forgeries of the Raphael?"

"Because that's what he did when he stole the Faulkner manuscript and the Degas. It's what we call an MO," Peter explained.

The prosecutor nodded and headed back over to his seat. "Taking all these facts, everything you have learned, and all the evidence you have uncovered in your three-year investigation, is there any doubt in your mind, Agent Burke, that Mr. Caffrey committed the crimes he stands accused of today?"

Peter glanced at the jury and then looked at Neal. "No, there isn't."

Neal mimicked taking off an invisible hat to him.

His defense attorney seemed less impressed when he stood to begin his cross. "Agent Burke, couldn't the person who counterfeited those pound bills simply have copied the mechanism that was used to forge the security strip on the fake bonds?"

"Highly unlikely. To get this close a match the information would have needed to come directly from Caffrey, at the very least," Peter replied, reminding himself to keep his cool, unlike Sara.

"Or directly from the FBI," Neal's lawyer hedged.

Peter's face froze. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not trying to make an accusation here. I'm just saying information gets leaked every day."

"Not by me or any of my agents," Peter growled. So much for keeping it cool.

"We are all only human, Agent Burke, including Mr. Caffrey. Which makes it impossible for him to be in two places at the same time. There are witness statements that put him several miles away from the museum during the Raphael theft, are there not?"

Peter shook his head. "Those witnesses only described a man who wore a fedora and roughly fit Caffrey's physical description."

"But isn't that similar to the statement you have on the man who sold the forged Faulkner manuscripts? Or does the FBI only believe the kind of witness statements that they like?" The lawyer tried to bait him again.

"No, we believe the statements we can actually corroborate, which was not the case regarding Caffrey's whereabouts during the Raphael theft. Because as you've said, people are only human and easily susceptible to a con man, who makes them see what he wants them to see," Peter said coolly.

"Be that as it may, if you couldn't corroborate those statements either way, shouldn't it be innocent until proven guilty?"

Peter leaned forward in his chair. "It is, which is why it took us three years to take him in, collecting boxes full of evidence that from the day he circulated those fake bonds to the day we arrested him in a warehouse downtown paint a very clear picture of who Neal Caffrey is and what he is capable of."

"Well, what that picture is or isn't, is not for you to decide," the lawyer said dismissively. "Thank you, Agent Burke."

Peter kept his thoughts to himself and stepped down.

There were no more witnesses to be heard so the judge moved on to the closing arguments. Both attorneys eloquently reiterated the points they had tried to make. The prosecution asked the jury to trust in the evidence and the expert testimonies given where the evidence was lacking and not to fall victim to yet another con, namely that Caffrey was innocent. The defense on the other hand urged the jury members to fall back on exactly that fundamental legal principle, presumption of innocence, and to consider that there was more than enough reasonable doubt here to uphold that principle.

The judge released the jury to begin their deliberation, and everybody else stood to leave the courtroom in the meantime. Peter hated this part. The waiting. It was worse this time because it felt like they were passing judgment on him and his team as much as they did on Caffrey. But it was out of his hands now, and he had something else to take care of.

He headed over to Neal and gave two of his agents the go ahead to cuff him again. "If you try to get out of these cuffs, I'm going to shoot you," he warned him.

Neal mockingly raised an eyebrow. "Threating to discharge your firearm in a public courthouse? I misjudged you, Peter." If he was nervous about a group of strangers deciding over his future, he didn't show it.

"Just walk."

He did. Naturally, he couldn't keep his mouth shut while he did so. "Where are we going?" he asked when they left the courtroom. "Are we finally getting that drink? One last hurrah?"

"How did you manage not to say anything during that entire trial?" Peter wondered since he never seemed to shut up otherwise.

"I was repeatedly counseled not to speak. My lawyer thought the jury might feel like I was trying to con them," Neal explained.

"Imagine that," Peter replied drily while he led them into the basement of the courthouse.

Neal eyed him suspiciously. "You're not going to lock me into a room with that insurance investigator so she can torture me for information on the Raphael, are you?"

Peter snorted. "Yeah, she really doesn't like you."

"I guess I should have sent her a birthday card, too."

"You really can't stand it when people don't like you, can you?"

"I wouldn't know. Never happened before," Neal grinned.

Peter made a face. "I don't like you."

"Yes, you do," Neal said, cocky as ever.

That almost made Peter change his mind about this, but it was too late now. He opened the door to a room that had no other exits except this one and that contained virtually nothing that wasn't bolted to the floor. It also had a camera, though that didn't record any audio.

Peter motioned for Neal to step inside that room. For the first time, he looked a little uncertain, but for once, he followed orders, and any protest died on his lips when he saw who was waiting for him.

"Hi, Neal," Kate said softly.

Neal looked from her back to Peter with the least guarded and most honest expression he had ever seen on his face – as proven by the fact that Neal didn't have an immediate or witty response ready.

And Peter didn't need one. "Don't make me regret this," he said before he took off Neal's cuffs and turned to leave and close the door behind him.

"Peter," Neal found his voice again before he could go. "Thank you."

Peter gave him a nod and left them alone. If the jury made the right decision, this would be the last time that Neal and Kate got to see each other without a pane of glass between them in a good long while. Or perhaps ever. To stand by your man was tough when that man was in prison. Peter figured they deserved a proper goodbye.

The length of that goodbye would be determined by the jury.

* * *

The jury came back before the day was done.

"Have you reached a unanimous verdict?" the judge asked when everybody had gathered in the courtroom once again.

The jury foreman stood and handed a piece of paper to the constable. "Yes, Your Honor."

Once the judge had reviewed the verdict, she looked at Neal. "Mr. Caffrey, will you and your counsel please rise?" Then she turned back towards the jury. "You may publish your findings."

It was perfectly quiet in the room and Peter braced himself for what would mark the end of three years of his life.

"On the charge and specification of counterfeiting, we the jury find the defendant not guilty. On the charge and specification of art theft, we find the defendant not guilty on all counts."

Sara Ellis looked like she had just swallowed poison. Neal had the tiniest of smirks on his face, and Peter just knew that he had that goddamn Raphael hidden away somewhere.

"On the charge and specification of securities fraud, we find the defendant not guilty. On the charge and specification of bond forgery, we the jury find the defendant guilty on all counts."

The foreman sat back down and the judge reached for her gavel. "Neal Caffrey, given everything I have heard here today, I hereby sentence you to four years in a maximum-security prison. Court is adjourned."

She banged the gavel, and while the rest of the room immediately erupted with noise, Peter closed his eyes for a second to block it all out.

Then he stood and walked over to the defendant table to transition custody of Neal from the FBI to the marshals, who were already there to cuff him. They weren't wasting any time. They were probably eager to call it a day. Like everyone here.

Everyone except Neal.

"Guess this is goodbye then," Neal said. He didn't sound quite so cocky anymore.

"Just do your time, Neal," Peter replied.

Neal winked at him. "If not, I'll send you a postcard."

Peter only shook his head while the marshals led him away. "Goodbye, Neal."

With no reason to linger and more than ready to finally get out of the courthouse, Peter began to make his way home.

"Hey, hon," El called from the living room when he entered the house.

She was sitting on the couch with Satchmo, watching a figure skating competition she had been excited about all week. She had her bare feet tucked under her and a cardigan thrown on over the dress she had worn to work. She looked comfortable, happy, and exactly like home.

It was silly and a bit morbid, but Peter always appreciated what he had a little bit more after a day at court where people had everything stripped away from them with a single banging of the gavel.

Without saying anything, he sat down next to his wife and put an arm around her shoulders.

El turned her head from the TV to him. "Is it over?" she asked simply.

A prison sentence of four years was vastly disproportionate to the number of crimes Neal had actually committed. But Peter found that he didn't mind. He had to acknowledge that the evidence he had collected simply wasn't compelling enough to convince anyone who didn't know Neal. Didn't know the truly remarkable con man he was. But he had still been convicted. He was going to do his time. That was enough for Peter.

Four years. Almost as long as Peter had been chasing him. And now he was done. El had been right. It was strange to get used to. But it would be okay because of the one constant in his life during those past three years and all the years yet to come – and Peter held her to him just a little bit tighter.

"It's over."

* * *

 **A/N: Speaking of endings, we're getting closer to the end of this story, too – as much as that pains me. :D But I always planned to keep going until the beginning of the show, and that's just around the corner now. One or two more chapters I think, because I have a hard time letting go. Thanks for sticking with this story, and I hope you enjoyed these last two Neal chapters because I certainly enjoyed writing them.**


	25. Where there's smoke

"I just realized this could be my first free Saturday in years," Peter said, pouring himself a third cup of coffee at the breakfast table.

El smiled distractedly. "That's great, hon. Then I'm sure you won't need all that caffeine."

Peter froze with the cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. He hesitated for a moment, then he laughed softly and put it back down. "Okay, so what would you like to do today?"

"Honey, I'm working today," El reminded him.

"You are?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

His wife sighed a little. "Today is the Renaissance gala."

"Right. You've been doing so many great events lately, I always get them mixed up," Peter tried to hide his failure inside a compliment, which elicited a small, knowing smile from El. "So... what am I going to do today?" he wondered. He could barely remember the last time he'd had free time on his hands. Usually, when El wasn't home, there was always work for him, too.

"You could clean the bathroom and vacuum the house," El suggested.

Peter made a face. "That doesn't sound like a fun weekend activity."

El chuckled. "Oh, and I need you to go to the store. I want to make a salmon and broccoli quiche tomorrow, but I forgot to buy eggs."

Again, Peter tried to hide a grimace. "Sure… or… if the weather's nice, we could have a barbecue to celebrate the gala's success."

"I appreciate the attempt at flattery, hon, but it won't get you out of eating healthier," El replied without missing a beat.

"A barbecue can be healthy," Peter argued. "There are lots of important nutrients in meat, especially for women."

El gave a little snort. "You're not worried about my iron intake. You just don't want to eat your dinner. And here I thought Satchmo was the only four-year-old in the family."

"I would love to eat dinner if you weren't making something that's French for 'really shouldn't count as dinner,'" Peter said sarcastically.

El shook her head at him. "You know, honey, I would really appreciate it if you could be a little more grateful that I don't want you to die of a heart attack."

Peter rolled his eyes, wishing he had never told El that his cholesterol had been a little bit higher than his doctor would have liked at his latest check-up. It was no cause for concern just yet, according to his doctor, but that message hadn't registered with his wife. "I really don't think you need to worry about that. I doubt a heart attack is the most likely cause of death for an FBI agent."

The instant that sentence had slipped out, Peter knew he had just shot himself in the foot. El dropped her spoon with a jarring clang and stared at him, looking appalled and upset.

A knock at the front door put an end to this rather unpleasant turn their conversation had taken.

'Saved by the bell,' Peter thought and he quickly got up to see who it was.

When he opened the door with a curious Satchmo right behind him, Peter's eyes widened in surprise. He grabbed Satchmo's collar to stop him from greeting their unexpected visitor with too much enthusiasm because she didn't look like she could take it.

"Mary? Hi, come on in. Did we know you were coming?" Peter asked as casually as he could while he tried to ignore that she looked, well, terrible. At least compared to the last time he had seen her, which had been a while. Her husband Marcus had transferred from White Collar to the Cyber division, and since then he and Mary hadn't been over for dinner again. El still had lunch with Mary on a regular basis, but she had never mentioned that anything was wrong.

It clearly was, though. As much as Peter hated to be confronted with it, he did know how to tell that a woman had been crying.

"No, and I'm so sorry for dropping by like this," Mary replied, and even her voice sounded tear-stricken.

El had heard them talking and joined them in the hallway. "Mary! What's going on?" She gave her a hug and then led her into the living room to sit.

Peter wasn't sure if he should follow or if he should simply disappear. But he had to admit that he was a little curious, and there was the possibility that Mary or Marcus needed help with something. So he let the women have the couch and settled in the armchair facing them.

"I'm so sorry for bothering you," Mary said again. "The kids are at summer camp and I had to get out of the house and I didn't know where else to go."

"Mary, it's fine. I mean, I have to go to work, but I have a few minutes," El assured her. "What's wrong?"

If Peter could tell that Mary was upset, then, of course, so could El. It was hard to miss. Even Satchmo felt that something was off. He padded over to Mary and gently rested his head in her lap. Not even that seemed to help, though. Mary reached out to scratch Satchmo's ears, but her heart clearly wasn't in it.

"Marcus and I are getting a divorce," she said after a while.

That news came entirely out of left field for Peter and propelled him right out of his comfort zone. It was terribly selfish of him, but he suddenly wished that he and El hadn't just argued about a stupid quiche. She wouldn't even look at him now. Still, Peter could tell that El was shocked, too, because Mary's sudden announcement hung in the air for a long time.

Eventually, El reached out to put a hand on Mary's arm. "Oh, Mary, I'm so sorry," she said softly and then hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Mary answered with a shaky nod. "And you don't have to pretend to be surprised."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Marcus and I haven't been as happy as you and Peter for a while now. You know we've always had our differences. We made it work for a long time, considering, but I don't think we were ever meant to make it. Just took us eleven years of marriage, two kids, and a mortgage to figure that out."

El ran her hand up and down Mary's arm in a soothing gesture. "But aren't those things worth fighting for?"

"We have been fighting. For so long. I just can't do it anymore. What's the point? I feel like the game was always rigged and no one bothered to tell us that marriages like this don't work," Mary said sadly because she didn't seem to have enough energy left to get angry.

El was incredibly patient and kept trying to figure out what had happened while still comforting her friend. "What do you mean?"

"All Marcus ever does is work. I know it's always been like that, but I thought it would get better when he transferred from White Collar to Cyber and finally became a supervisory agent, but it actually got worse! When the kids were little, I didn't mind so much, because your marriage will always come second to a baby or a toddler anyway. But they are getting older so fast now. I need someone who's there for me, too, not as a mother but as a woman. And I realized that I don't want to feel like I'm married to a phone call or an empty bed for the rest of my life."

If Peter had ever felt like he knew what to say to Mary, that feeling would have definitely gone away now. He didn't know why, but something about Mary and Marcus' marital problems always hit too close to home for him.

Unsurprisingly, El was a lot stronger than he was. "Mary, I understand how you feel. But don't you remember all those years ago when I first met you? You told me that loving an FBI agent is sometimes scary but also the safest you could ever be because they won't ever hurt you, as long as you have just a little patience and a little understanding for what they have to do every day."

Peter smiled softly in surprise. In all these years, El had never told him exactly what sort of wisdom Mary had shared with her that day at the ice rink on how to be an FBI wife. Technically, she still hadn't told him, she had merely tried to remind Mary.

Mary only looked sadder, though. "Then I guess the student has surpassed the master."

El opened her mouth to say something, but her eyes fell on the clock on the mantelpiece and she sighed. "Mary, I'm so, so sorry, but I have to get going. There's this really important gala tonight. But we'll talk more later, okay? And you can stay here for as long as you want."

Mary nodded weakly. "Of course. Thank you."

After giving her another hug, El got up and hurried upstairs to get ready. Peter smiled apologetically at Mary before he followed his wife up to their bedroom.

"You're really leaving – now?" he asked her.

"We already talked about this. I have to," El replied curtly and with an edge to her voice that told Peter she hadn't forgotten about earlier – before Mary had dropped her bombshell.

He sighed. "El, I'm sorry. It was a bad joke."

Finally, El stopped to look at him. "I didn't know the risks you have to take on the job are something we joke about in this house."

"They are not. They shouldn't be. That's what people usually mean when they talk about a bad joke, and this one wasn't even remotely funny. I promise you, no more jokes," Peter said with a small hopeful smile.

El sighed and her demeanor softened. They were not out of the woods yet, but it was a start. "All right, but I still have to go."

"I know this gala is important, but El, please don't leave me alone with her," Peter pleaded. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You don't have to do anything. She just needs a friend and some company."

"Not from me."

"Why not?" El asked.

"Because I'm basically another version of Marcus, who happens to be the husband she's divorcing," Peter replied.

"Well, then just try to be a better version," El said, pecked him on the cheek, and was gone.

Peter hid in the bedroom for a little longer, but eventually he had to go back downstairs. Mary was still sitting on the sofa, looking as helpless as Peter felt.

"Sorry for ruining your free weekend." El must have filled her in on that.

"It's fine," Peter waved her off. "Is there anything you feel like doing?" he asked the second time this morning. It seemed like every time he did, his day got worse.

"Oh, please just do whatever you would be doing if I wasn't here. I don't want to get in the way."

Peter stopped himself from pointing out that it was impossible to ignore her since she was sitting right there, looking like a picture of misery. "I'd probably take Satchmo out for a walk. That always helps to clear my mind."

Mary tried to muster a small smile. "Sounds nice. I'd like to join you if you don't mind."

"Of course," Peter nodded and fetched Satchmo's leash. He was aware that he was using his dog as a buffer, but then again, dogs had been known to make their humans feel better. He figured it was worth the try.

So the three of them left the house and went on a very long and exhausting walk. Somehow, they got talking about different, rather inconsequential stuff like college football. But it was the kind of stuff that was safe to talk about. And when they made it back, Peter put a game on. While they sat there, watching TV, Peter thought he was actually doing pretty well, as far as distracting Mary was concerned at least. He wasn't the right person to help her work through her issues anyway.

But then Ole Miss scored a touchdown and Mary suddenly started to cry. Not just secretly wiping a couple of tears away that had spilled over, but actual heart-wrenching sobs.

Peter was baffled and he had no idea if he should try to pat her back or something or better not touch her at all. "Mary? What's wrong?"

"It's just… Marcus loves college football… and we were at this game once… and he… and then…"

He couldn't make out the rest of the story in between the tears and the heartache, and he had a feeling that it wouldn't matter either way. There was nothing Peter could do to help.

But maybe somebody else could. Before he had a chance to second-guess himself, Peter grabbed his phone and called Marcus.

* * *

There was about an hour or two left before the guests would start to arrive. With the preparations all done, it was the proverbial calm before the storm. Usually, Elizabeth would have used that time to double-check everything, perhaps change into her outfit for the actual event, and have a couple of moments to herself before she would try to be in several places at once for the rest of the night.

Today, she was rushing back home to check on Peter and Mary instead. She hadn't felt good about leaving her husband alone with Mary, who had clearly been a mess. Peter had the biggest heart Elizabeth had ever known anyone to have, but he didn't always know how to express it. Tears still flustered him sometimes. And Mary had been so incredibly fragile. That made for a very bad combination.

So Elizabeth had decided to sacrifice her little break to make sure they were both okay.

She hadn't known what to expect when she came home, but certainly not to find her husband sitting alone on the couch and watching a game while drinking beer and eating Cheerios. Elizabeth knew her obsession with eating healthier would make her the kind of nagging wife she had never wanted to become. She wasn't even going to say anything about the beer because her own love for wine wasn't exactly leading by example. But having cereal for dinner really wasn't necessary.

"Hey, El. I didn't think you'd be back so soon," Peter said, sitting up. He looked surprised and like he might have hidden the cereal bowl from her, given the chance.

Elizabeth hated that. Especially since there was no hiding the fact that he had not yet cleaned the house either. Which would have been fine if he had spent the day with Mary, but she wasn't even there anymore.

That felt like the more pressing matter right now. "I only have about an hour before I have to get back. Where's Mary?"

"Well, things took a bit of an unexpected turn," Peter replied vaguely.

Elizabeth leaned against the armchair, feeling too tense to sit. "What does that mean?"

"We took a walk with Satchmo and we watched a game and she seemed… better for a while, but then she started to cry again, and I decided to call the one person who I thought could actually help her."

"You called Markus?" Elizabeth guessed, a little surprised. That actually sounded like a good idea.

"I did," Peter nodded, but the grim look on his face told Elizabeth that it hadn't worked out. "Turns out, Mary left a few things out when she told you what happened between them."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that she was having an affair."

"Oh," was everything Elizabeth could say and she had to sit down after all.

"Yes," Peter said, apparently not sure what else to say either.

After a moment of heavy silence, Elizabeth looked up at him again. "But where is she now? That doesn't sound like Marcus came by to take her home."

"No, she left on her own."

"Why? This morning she said that she had no idea where else to go."

Peter made a face, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he had to tell her. "I might have said something that upset her."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, fearing the worst. "What? What did you say to her?"

"I asked her why she was so upset about her marriage ending, when she had made the choice to break her vows first."

"Peter!"

He still looked uncomfortable, but he shrugged. "It is a fair question, El. She wasn't telling us the truth."

Elizabeth groaned. "I was afraid something like this might happen. She's not a suspect in one of your interrogations, Peter. She isn't obligated to tell us anything. And you don't know what the truth is between the two of them."

"I know that Marcus wouldn't lie about Mary having an affair," Peter insisted.

"That makes it _a_ truth, not _her_ truth. Maybe her truth is that she was alone all the time and felt like he had stepped out of the marriage first."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "And that makes it okay?"

"That's not for us to decide," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "We're just supposed to be there for them."

"Are we? Would you really have been there for Marcus the same way?" Peter asked.

Elizabeth wasn't sure what he was insinuating, but she didn't like it. "Of course, I would have tried to help Marcus if he had come to us. You know that."

"Yeah? Because it feels to me like you were on her side before she even opened her mouth, and you still are, regardless of what she did," Peter said, and he said it so matter-of-factly that it made Elizabeth look at him with twice as much disbelief.

"Really? We're talking about taking sides now? What is this? Third grade?"

"I don't know. I'm just tired of the fact that it's always the FBI's fault, even when it isn't," Peter replied sullenly.

Elizabeth scoffed. "Oh, so you think the affair was entirely unrelated?"

"See! You are taking her side," Peter said, throwing his hands up.

Elizabeth got back to her feet. "I'm not taking sides. But yes, of course I feel for her. Do you think it's always easy to say 'yes, honey, it's okay, honey, you don't have to come home and eat the dinner with me that I spent the last hour making because I would like you to eat healthy and live to grow old with me'? It's not. And this isn't one of your cases where there's a bad guy to find and arrest."

Peter just stared up at her. "Wow, I'm sorry these past seven years were such hardship for you," he said, his face unreadable.

"That's not…" Elizabeth began to say, but then she merely shook her head with a humorless laugh. "Seven years of marriage."

"Yes, so?" Peter asked, frowning.

"Maybe that's where this is coming from," she said, pointing at the loaded space between them that had nothing to do with the two people they usually were. "The seven-year itch."

Peter snorted. "That's not a real thing."

"Statistically speaking, it is, actually."

"We're not like any other couple, and we're not a statistic either."

"Right now, we're arguing about eating habits and household chores and our friends' broken marriage and whose fault that is. I'm pretty sure that makes us exactly like any other married couple," Elizabeth said, but if anything, that made her sad rather than angry.

Peter stood and part of her wished he would just take her in his arms and make all this nonsense go away, but she didn't really know how and neither did Peter.

"Well, whatever our problems are, I'm sure it's all my fault," he said, and Elizabeth couldn't even tell if he sounded sarcastic or defeated.

Her answer was the same either way. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is. You just said so yourself. You spent seven years of your life waiting for your FBI husband not to disappoint you. Sometimes I wonder if and when you don't want to wait anymore."

Elizabeth took a step back because she didn't know what else to do right now. She didn't know if she and Peter were upset with each other, with Mary and Marcus, the FBI, or all of the above, but she didn't have time to deal with it. She had a job to do tonight.

"You know, I think I liked it better when you were still chasing after Neal. At least, you were too busy to say something as ridiculous as that," Elizabeth told him, trying to keep her voice as level as she could. "I have to get back to work now. I will see you tonight."

Peter looked like he wanted to respond, but he seemed unable to find the right words.

Elizabeth sighed and turned around, walking past Satchmo, who was lying down with his head resting on his paws, looking very small. Unfortunately, she didn't have time to comfort him either.

She could have used some comfort herself. In lieu of that, Elizabeth threw herself into her work. This day had been one giant mess. The least she could do was to make sure that this gala went off without a hitch.

Things looked good. People showed up in their fanciest clothes. They flocked to the buffet. A wine delivery was temporarily misplaced, but it quickly resurfaced. The guests of honor delivered their speech without any technical hiccups. There was some dancing and a lot of laughter, which was always the best indicator of how things were going.

And then, the fire alarm went off, the laughter stopped, and the screaming started.

* * *

He almost didn't hear the phone over the noise of the vacuum cleaner. When he did hear it, Peter almost let it go to voicemail. He was in no mood. It was Saturday night, and he was vacuuming the house in the hope of fixing whatever he had screwed up in a stupid fight with his wife. A fight he had no idea how to deal with because he had embarrassingly (or wonderfully) little experience with fighting with El. All the while, his dog sat on the couch and watched him like he had lost his mind, which he very well might have.

The responsible FBI agent in him won out, though, and he turned off the vacuum cleaner before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

" _Is this Peter Burke?"_ A man who didn't bother to identify himself asked.

Peter recognized an air of professionalism and urgency in the man's voice. This was someone who was doing his job, which was why Peter didn't hesitate to answer. "Yes, this is he."

He had expected the man on the other end to follow up with a work-related issue. The question he did ask caught him completely off guard. _"Is your wife Elizabeth Burke?"_

Oh no. No. No. No. No. No.

This was not happening. He was not getting that phone call. The one El spent her days and nights in fear of. The irony of that wasn't lost on him, but Peter couldn't really focus. He could barely even think. All he could hear was his frantic heartbeat. He grabbed the phone so hard that his knuckles were turning white.

Satchmo whined and jumped off the couch to run to his side.

"What happened? How is she? Where is she?" Peter asked in rapid succession.

" _My name is Dr. Castio. I'm treating your wife at the New York-Presbyterian for acute smoke inhalation. Apparently, there was a fire at a gala she worked at tonight."_

Peter felt an odd mix of relief, anger, and fear. Relief that this wasn't the worst kind of call, that she was still alive. Anger because he had never even thought about the possibility that something could happen to her at one of her events, and fear because he didn't know how badly she was hurt. The doctor hadn't said anything about burns, but Peter knew that smoke inhalation was just as dangerous. He didn't want to waste any more time on the phone, though.

He told Dr. Castio that he would be there as soon as possible, and in his hurry, he almost tripped over Satchmo, who was sitting at his feet. Between the fight from earlier and the concern Peter was radiating now, the poor guy seemed to have no idea what to do with himself. He looked up at Peter with those big brown eyes, imploring him to make things right.

Peter took a few precious seconds to bend down and cuddle his sad dog. "I can't take you with me, buddy, I'm sorry. But I promise you I'll bring her home."

Satchmo gave a little whimper and rested his head on his paws again. Peter had no choice but to leave him like that. He had to get to the hospital.

Mercifully, traffic wasn't too bad, and a helpful nurse paged the doctor he had spoken to on the phone right away. Dr. Castio shook his hand with a kind smile but skipped all other pleasantries. He was probably used to dealing with worried family members.

"As I already told you on the phone, your wife inhaled quite a bit of smoke and had trouble breathing when the paramedics brought her in. We've already given her oxygen and done a chest x-ray. It came back normal, which is good news, but due to the risk of respiratory or other organ failure, I'd like to monitor her closely throughout the night and do a repeat x-ray in the morning to make sure there's no delayed lung injury or swelling," he explained while he led Peter to El's room.

"She's resting now, which is important after any trauma, but she was asking for you earlier," Dr. Castio added kindly when they stopped outside the window that allowed Peter a first glimpse of his wife.

She was asleep and looked a little pale but otherwise uninjured. A nasal cannula ran across her face to her nose to help her breathe, but she was still breathing on her own – and that was the only thing that truly mattered right now, Peter reminded himself.

That did not mean, however, that the investigator in him was going to hold his tongue. "Do you know what happened?" he asked.

"According to the fire department, the fire broke out in the kitchens, so most of the guests were able to leave the building quickly and safely. There was only the staff back there and your wife, who was among the last to leave because she insisted on making sure that everyone got out. I hear she gave the firemen a run for their money."

Peter couldn't help a chuckle, though he didn't actually feel like laughing. He wanted to yell at El's still form that she should have been saving herself and come back to him. But he couldn't even pretend that he wasn't proud of her. And really, he had never known her to be anything but brave.

"It was an accident then? The fire?" he asked. Anything to keep himself distracted.

Dr. Castio nodded. "As far as I know. But I'm the wrong person to talk to about this. NYFD is still at the scene, I think," he said as if to suggest that Peter could go there to find answers.

Which made Peter realize that he had just been about to slip into the role of investigator again, just like El always told him he did. In truth, he couldn't have cared less about the fire department's investigation. It would have simply given him something to do, something to chase down, something to make right. But El didn't need an investigator right now. She needed her husband. Had needed him all day.

He thanked Dr. Castio with a nod and entered El's room. They had gotten lucky so far. All their trips to the hospital had been about other people, at least the ones that had been really serious. Even so, those had been bad enough. But this was a hundred times worse. Peter had never felt more helpless, useless even.

No one should ever be forced to see the love of their life in a hospital bed.

Carefully, Peter took El's limp hand in his. "Hey, hon," he said and stopped to take a breath to fill the silence that followed when she wouldn't answer.

"I know you need to sleep, but I wish you were awake," he continued quietly. "Because I looked it up and you were right." He chuckled. "I know, I know, you're always right. But I'm talking about this seven-year itch. Turns out, it really is a thing." He should have just admitted that earlier and made her stay to talk about it. Perhaps it would have stopped her from going to the gala. "Anyway, I read that one of the things to do is to never go to bed angry. I don't think we ever did that, so… how about we don't start now?"

Peter searched El's face, but of course she didn't suddenly awaken. He heaved a sigh. It was going to be a long night. He scanned the room and pulled over a chair, so he could sit right next to El's bed, always keeping hold of her hand. He wasn't letting her go and he wasn't leaving.

All he was prepared to do was to use one hand to shove his badge into the face of any nurse or intern who tried to tell him that visiting hours were over. Most of them were very kind, though. The nurse who seemed to be on duty for the night even tried to make small talk while she checked El's vitals, but Peter wasn't in the mood. Also, he was getting tired.

He refused to fall asleep, however, even knowing that he would probably be jostled awake by El or any doctors coming in, should anything happen. Still, he couldn't risk waking up to his wife being gone. As far as Peter was concerned, they were leaving this room together or not at all.

In the end, he faded in and out of consciousness for hours until he almost fell out of the chair. At that point, Peter rested his head on the edge of El's hospital bed, which wasn't a more comfortable position either, but it was enough to close his eyes for just a second...

The next thing he got aware of was the feeling of soft fingers running through his hair. Quickly, Peter sat back up, annoyed with himself for falling asleep after all. But any curse died on his lips when he realized that those fingers in his hair meant that El was awake.

"Hey, hon," she said softly.

He hadn't actually needed the reminder (then again, maybe he had), but that voice, those words, it was the only thing he needed to hear upon waking up for as long as he lived. Followed by looking into those beautiful, startling blue eyes. Peter couldn't possibly imagine never seeing them again.

"Hey, hon," he replied, and then, because he couldn't help himself, he stood and leaned down to kiss her. Gently, so he wouldn't hurt her or deprive her of any more oxygen. He just needed to make sure she was really still there.

The way her lips moved beneath his certainly felt very familiar and very solid. Still, Peter only let go to place a hand on her cheek. "How are you feeling? Should I get the nurse?" he asked, perching on the edge of her bed.

"Just a little dizzy, I think. But you look like you could use one of these beds for yourself. Have you been sitting here all night?"

Peter glanced at his watch. Technically, it was morning, but only just barely. It would probably be another couple of hours before anyone came for that second x-ray. "Where else would I go without you?" he said, pressing a kiss to her hand. "I heard you saved everyone."

El shook her head. "I only made sure that the people I hired and all the other staff got out of a burning building."

"You know that's what the fire department is for, right?"

"As if you would have left before everybody else got out of there," El replied, giving him a pointed look.

It was hard to argue with that. Peter tried anyway. "I'm trained to do that."

"Really? You're trained to withstand fire?" El asked with a slightly mocking smile, which Peter took as a sign that she was feeling better.

"Well, trained to believe that I stand a chance, at least."

"Maybe you're rubbing off on me then," El said with a chuckle that turned into a cough that was bad enough to send a jolt of fear right through Peter's heart. But before he could stand to get a nurse, El's cough subsided and she squeezed his hand. "I'm okay. I'm okay," she said, effortlessly reading the worried look on his face.

"Are you sure? The doctor said there could be swelling…"

"Don't worry, hon. I'm tougher than I look. I have been married to you for seven years after all."

There it was again. That number that Peter had come to see in a whole new light. "El, I'm so…"

"No, don't do that, honey," she interrupted him.

"Do what?"

"Apologize simply because I'm lying in this hospital bed and gave us both a scare," she explained. "It's too cliché."

He understood where she was coming from, but after a couple of hours spent fearing he might never get to talk to her again, Peter couldn't simply not say anything. "But you are and you did. And for the record, I won't ever let you walk out that door again."

El's eyes softened. "How about you never let me walk out that door again without a kiss and telling you that I love you? Because no matter what, that will never not be true."

"Even when I'm being a four-year-old?"

"Especially then."

Peter smiled. "I like that."

"Good," El nodded. "Now tell me what happened."

Peter frowned. "Um, hon, I wasn't there. I was planning on asking you that."

"I wasn't there when the fire started either. I just heard the alarms go off and when I got to the kitchen, the flames were already ceiling-high. I thought you would have figured it out by the time I woke up," El said.

"This is not FBI jurisdiction," Peter reminded her.

"Yes, but I'm sure they would tell you if you asked nicely."

Peter chuckled. "Okay, hon, I'll talk to the NYFD." When El looked at him expectantly, he added, "But not right now."

"Honey, I need to know what happened. I need to know if Burke Premiere Events is going to get caught up in this somehow," El insisted, raising her voice a little, which brought on another cough.

"El, hon, it was a kitchen fire," Peter said quickly, handing her a cup filled with water so she could drink something. "It wasn't your fault. But I'll get you that report – after the doctors release you from the hospital."

"Okay, fine," El agreed and leaned back. Then she saw the slight frown on Peter's face. "What?"

"I thought you wanted me to be less of an investigator sometimes," he admitted. And now she was pushing him to be just that.

El sighed. "I never said that. All I wanted was for you to show some compassion for Mary, no matter what she did. You were the one who put the FBI on trial."

"Because I feel like it always plays a part when I do the wrong thing," Peter shrugged.

"It also plays a part when you do the right thing, because it's who you are. And who you are could never be a disappointment to me," El said, bringing them back to their stupid argument after all. "Well, I wouldn't mind if you vacuumed a little more often. As much as I love Satchmo, he's still a dog, and dogs lose hairs everywhere… but… that would never make me walk out the door."

Peter pushed a strand of hair out of her face that was still a little too pale for his liking. "I know, and I never meant to imply that. I guess it just threw me that the woman who talked you into this now wants out herself."

El began to laugh, which was a bad idea because her throat was clearly not pain free yet.

"Oh, honey, what did I say?" Peter asked while he tried to help her to calm down and ease the pain.

"I'm sorry, it's just too funny that you think Mary talked me into loving you," El explained when she could talk again.

"It was only our second date. If she had told you to get the hell out of Dodge…"

"Then I would have told her that it might just be too late for that already."

Peter grinned. "You were that impressed with me on the ice, huh?"

"No, but I was impressed with how much you wanted to impress me," El replied, smiling at the memory. "I figured it meant that I had a fighting chance of prying your attention away from work every now and then."

"More than a fighting chance. You won the whole damn war with just one smile," Peter said. It sounded like an exaggeration, but it really wasn't.

"You said the same thing back then. That an FBI wife needed nothing more than a smile," El remembered.

"That's still true. But I didn't mean you couldn't also tell me when you're fed up with it all." Of course, he didn't want to hear her say that, but Mary and Marcus had made it very clear what happened when things weren't being said.

El pushed herself up into a more upright position. "Right now, all I'm fed up with is this thing," she said and tried to remove the nasal cannula from her face.

Peter quickly reached out to stop her. "Leave it, honey. Please. For me."

El slowly lowered her hand. "It's not easy, is it? Being on the other side?"

There was no need to ask what she meant. "It's terrible," Peter admitted miserably.

"Well, I'm fine, and there's still time for you to get some sleep as well."

"No…" he began to shake his head.

"Not at home," El cut him off. "There is room in this bed right here."

Peter hesitated and glanced at the doorway where a nurse could appear to check on them at any time. He didn't want to get in trouble for taking up space that belonged to a patient who needed to rest and recover, even if she tried her damnedest to pretend otherwise.

"Come on, honey. You either climb into this bed and admit that we're both exhausted or we're both fine and I'm taking this thing off," El used her favorite way of negotiating that never left him with much of a choice, FBI training or not. One day he would get her to teach a class at Quantico.

"I don't understand why you get to worry about me, even though you're the one in a hospital bed," Peter said.

"Because I'm your wife, that's why."

Seven-year itch or not, Peter had learned never to argue with that. Carefully, he climbed into bed with El, making sure not to mess up any of the machinery or disturb her in any other way. She still smelled faintly of smoke, and up close, he could see the redness surrounding her eyes.

"Hon," he said. It came out as a bit of a sigh.

"Yes?"

"Next time, please at least try to run away from the fire and not towards it."

Peter saw a small smile form on her lips, but she never actually responded before his body made the most of the fact that he was finally lying down more or less comfortably and he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

None of the nurses made a comment when they began their morning routine a few hours later. Since there were no outward signs that El's condition had worsened, it was decided that she should have breakfast and then Dr. Castio would examine her again and do another x-ray to determine if she could be released.

While El inspected her breakfast tray with furrowed eyebrows, Peter picked up his phone to arrange for Satchmo to be taken out for a walk. He figured they would be at the hospital for at least a couple more hours.

"How is Satch doing?" El asked when he had hung up.

"You know I didn't actually speak to him, right?"

El sighed. "I know. It's just he hates to be alone all night."

"He'll be fine. I promised him I'd bring you home," Peter told her. "Now what is going on with this breakfast you're not eating?"

"I'm not sure it's actual food," El complained.

"Well, honey, I don't think they know how to make quiche here," Peter quipped.

El's eyes widened in surprise, and he couldn't really tell if they did so in a good or in a bad way.

"Too soon?" he hedged.

Before she could respond, Peter's phone rang and he answered it without looking, expecting it to be the dog sitter again.

It wasn't.

" _Peter, thank God! We've been trying to call the house all morning,"_ the voice of his father-in-law caught him completely by surprise.

"Alan," he said slowly while exchanging a look with El, whose eyes widened some more. "Um, why? What's going on?" It was a stupid question, but Peter decided to play it safe.

" _Tina saw something on the morning news about a fire at a New Yorker gala last night, and she swears it's the exact same one Elizabeth was going to attend, and since she is not picking up her phone either, her mother is worried sick."_

Peter had been afraid he was going to say that. He had no idea why his mother-in-law was watching local news this early in the morning, but clearly, the cat was out of the bag. He switched tactics and opted for damage control. "You both don't need to worry. Elizabeth is fine," he said, feeling like a hypocrite. After all, he had done nothing but worry since he had found out.

" _So she wasn't at the gala?"_ Alan asked sharply.

"Um..." Peter was beginning to wonder why he was the one having this conversation. As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, El shoveled a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. "No, she was at the gala, but she... um... well, we're at the hospital right now, but the doctors are about to release her."

Hopefully.

That didn't cheer up Alan in the slightest. " _Our daughter is in the hospital, and you didn't bother to tell us?"_

"It's only been a couple of hours, really..." Peter tried to explain, but Alan cut him off.

" _And she could have died during any one of them."_

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? It was the truth, no matter how cautiously optimistic Dr. Castio's diagnosis had been when Peter had talked to him last night.

" _Put my daughter on the phone!"_ Alan demanded when Peter remained silent.

Strangely relieved, Peter held out the phone to El. "Your father wants to talk to you."

El vigorously shook her head, wordlessly pleading with him not to make her take the phone, which really wasn't very fair.

"Um, Alan? She's with the doctors right now..." Peter gave it another try.

" _Peter, I let you marry Elizabeth, trusting that as a member of law enforcement you'd be able to protect her. As such, I'm sure you can figure out a way to get my daughter on the phone,"_ Alan said calmly as ever but with an underlying edge that wasn't to be denied.

Peter covered the phone with one hand so Alan wouldn't hear his next words. "He's going to reach through this phone and strangle me if you don't talk to him," he said to El.

She heaved a sigh and took the phone. "Daddy, stop badgering my husband. I'm okay," she tried convincing Alan herself. "Yes, I'm sure… I wasn't even close to the fire," she switched to lying in record time, but Peter was on board with anything that calmed her dad down. "I inhaled a little too much smoke. It was just a precaution, really… No, I couldn't have because my phone is still in the building or burned to ashes, I don't know… I suppose he could have…" Peter groaned. No need to ask who they were talking about. "It was the middle of the night! You would have been asleep and gotten all worked up for nothing," El valiantly tried to defend him. "No, I didn't mean it like that… I know… There probably won't even be a next time… Okay, fine… Yes, I'll tell him." Clearly, she had failed. "No, really, you don't have to… Yes, of course, we'd be happy to… I love you, too." El sighed and hang up.

"He hates me again, doesn't he?" Peter deadpanned.

"Well… I wouldn't expect him to give you a big hug next weekend," El replied.

"Next weekend?" Peter repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in alarm.

"They insisted on coming to visit. What was I supposed to say?"

Peter could think of a few things, but he kept them to himself.

Especially when Dr. Castio walked into the room to examine El again. He seemed happy with the results, but he ordered that chest x-ray anyway, and Peter wasn't allowed to come. So he asked the nurses how long this was going to take and went looking for the cafeteria and the gift shop.

When El was returned to her room, Peter was sipping a cup of coffee.

"Tell me you have one for me, too," El said, sitting back down on her bed.

"Did Dr. Castio give you the results yet?" Peter asked.

El shook her head, which didn't surprise him. He had already assumed that they weren't done waiting.

"Then no. But I got you these for when you're cleared to go." Peter emptied one of the two plastic bags he had brought onto the bed. It contained a fresh pair of pants and a t-shirt because her dress from last night was clearly never to be worn again. The clothes were from the gift shop, and it said 'I love New York' on them. Not terribly original, but not untrue, and the only thing he had found in her size.

"No underwear, I'm afraid, other than socks. But there's this," Peter said, emptying the second bag that contained basic toiletries like a tooth- and a hairbrush. If El was released, they could go straight home, but Peter knew his wife. He knew she wasn't feeling comfortable in her own skin right now. He hoped this would help until she could take a shower and wash off the smell of fire and hospital.

El's eyes lit up. "God, I love you," she breathed, which Peter took to mean that his assumptions had been spot on.

Still, he frowned. "What's with the tone of surprise?" he asked.

El was too busy grabbing her new things and disappearing into the bathroom to answer.

Peter looked after her and then he simply got up and followed her. El shot him a look when he sat down on the chair in the corner meant for patients who were too weak to stand. But she didn't protest and allowed him to keep her company.

"I thought about this seven-year itch some more while I was waiting for you to get back," Peter told her after a moment.

"You did?" El asked distractedly.

"And I think there's a fault with the underlying logic," Peter continued anyway.

"What does that mean?" El asked around the toothbrush in her mouth.

"I understand that the drudgery of household chores and the unpleasantness of getting older can cause couples to disconnect. But I don't think that's because they have been together for seven years or because everything was better in the beginning."

"You didn't like our beginning?"

"Of course, I did. Falling in love with you and exploring everything about you was the most exciting time in my life," Peter said, and he remembered everything like it was yesterday. "I'm just saying this is even better."

El raised both eyebrows. "How so?"

"In our early days, you would have never let me watch you brush your teeth."

El chuckled and spit out the toothpaste. "I'm not sure I understand how you taking part in my personal hygiene makes this better. It's not exactly sexy."

"It doesn't have to be. But while we're talking about _that_ … I'd say that we've gotten better at that, too. I certainly like knowing what you like me to do and what works for both of us," Peter said with a grin.

"I think we had that part figured out right away, but I won't deny that it's been fun to find out how to make it even better," El replied, mirroring his expression.

"Who says we're done with that?" Peter asked.

His wife laughed. "I think you were trying to make a different point."

"That you know that is my point. More often than not, you know exactly what I'm thinking, and I do, too. So no matter what we do from now on, you're a part of me that I couldn't cut out any more than my own heart."

El lowered the hairbrush with a soft smile on her lips. "Then you understand that I was only nagging you to eat healthy to make sure that heart keeps beating strong for a long time," she said, placing a hand on his chest.

Peter reached out to hold her hand in his. "I do. I was being an ungrateful bastard."

"No, you weren't. Not in those words at least," El corrected him. "And I guess I didn't take it very well that you were so excited about having a weekend off and being able to do things and I couldn't join you because I had to work, which I love, but also hated a little, which is not okay, considering how much we invested in it."

"Of course, it's okay," Peter told her. "I feel like that all the time. We're both lucky enough to love our work. Makes it complicated sometimes."

"Then let's uncomplicate it and just go home to enjoy the rest of this nice, free Sunday," El said, wrapping both of her hands around his neck.

Peter tilted his head up to look at her. "As soon as your doctors say it's okay."

El sighed and let go of him to finish freshen up and put on the new clothes. They weren't her usual style, but they were clean and they fit. "Well, you got my size right," she noted after checking herself in the mirror.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Honey, you need to stop sounding so surprised."

"Then you're no longer the man who would run into a burning building rather than go shopping with me?" El asked teasingly.

"How about this? I'll go shopping with you if you promise to run _out_ of burning buildings in the future," Peter countered.

El laughed. "Deal," she said and bent down to kiss him.

She tasted of tooth paste and like a reminder to cherish every time their lips touched. They might be stronger than a seven-year itch, but there were some things in this life that even their love couldn't fight.

They were once again at the mercy of Dr. Castio when he came to give them the results of the x-ray. "Your scans are clear, and there's no evidence of swelling or significant damage to the heart and lungs. Some minor discomfort while swallowing or laughing is normal, but should subside in a few days. In other words, you can go home now, as long as you take it easy. Your body went through a trauma. Give it some time to recover."

"I will. Thank you, Dr. Castio," El said and squeezed Peter's hand in relief.

He smiled at her broadly. Now that they had confirmation that El's airways were no longer blocked, he felt like he had never drawn breath easier. He also knew that she was itching to get out of this hospital. So Peter stood and quickly gathered their things.

When they had made it to the car, he began to relax further. He was looking forward to leaving all of this behind them and simply enjoying a nice Sunday, just like El had said. Then he remembered something, and while putting yesterday behind them seemed like the right call, it felt too risky not to mention this.

"Hon, would you mind if we stopped at the store before going home?"

El looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "You never bought those eggs I asked you to get, did you?"

Peter took his eyes off the road for a moment to give his wife a sheepish smile. "I still love you more than anything in this world."

El shook her head, but she laughed and, whether his love had anything to do with that or not, she was cough free this time.

"You better."

* * *

 **A/N: When this chapter was done, I realized it had a lot of similarities to "Payback", but I wanted to include at least one chapter where Peter and El had to deal with a bit of an argument like a normal couple. Although every time I try to write about them fighting, they resist me as best as they can, ha! Anyway, only two chapters left at this point, I think.** **As always, thank you so much for your reviews!**


	26. Best-laid Plans

**A/N: Second to last chapter, guys. I've been trying to come full circle with these last two chapters. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Elizabeth leaned forward in the passenger seat and tried to see out the windshield, but everything was covered in snow. She loved snow. She loved snow on Christmas, she loved taking walks in the snow with Peter and Satchmo, and she loved watching it fall when she was sitting somewhere warm with a nice cup of tea.

Driving in the middle of a full-on snowstorm? Not so much.

Especially not when it was her fault. Well, technically, it was her parents' fault.

They were celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. Elizabeth's mom had always said that if they made it to fifty, they would go on a cruise. Just the two of them. With that in mind, she had decided that they would have a big celebration now for the 40th anniversary. She had found a beautiful lake resort and had invited the entire extended family to stay there for a weekend – their treat.

It was a wonderful idea and Elizabeth had been looking forward to it for weeks. But the day before, the entire Midwest had been hit by a massive snowstorm. Somehow, Peter and Elizabeth's plane had made it out of New York and into Chicago. But as soon as they had left the airport in their rental car, they seemed to have run out of luck.

The roads were getting worse by the minute. The windshield wipers could barely keep up with the amount of snow, which made it hard to see. The streets had been plowed at some point, but the fresh snow made any attempts at keeping them that way look like a fool's errand.

"They'll be closing the roads soon if this doesn't get any better," Peter muttered. He was driving at a snail's pace and still his knuckles were turning white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

Elizabeth felt bad because she could see how much it stressed him to drive under these conditions. It took all of his concentration and training just to keep the car on the road. But she didn't know what to do about it.

And then the rear wheels of their car lost traction, causing them to skid for a moment before Peter got the car back under control.

"Hon…" Elizabeth said anxiously. This was no longer merely annoying. It was beginning to scare her.

Peter reached out to squeeze her hand real quick before putting both hands back on the wheel. "I'm stopping the first chance we get," he decided.

The first chance they got turned out to be a motel. They almost didn't make it onto the parking lot because of all the piled-up snow. But they got a room and fought their way from the reception across the lot towards that room. Once they were safely inside, Peter dropped their bags and exhaled.

"I know your father isn't my biggest fan, but conjuring up a snowstorm to keep me away seems a little excessive, don't you think?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Why would he do that? If you're not coming, I'm not coming," she pointed out.

"Right, fatal flaw in his logic. You should tell him that. Maybe that'll make this storm go away," Peter suggested.

"You're being silly, but you're right about one thing. I really do need to call them," Elizabeth said and reached for her phone. But there was no reception. She tried to use the landline in the room, but the phone was dead, too. Elizabeth picked up her cell again and carried it into every corner of the room, hoping to get at least one bar. No such luck.

She was heading towards the door when Peter stopped her. "Honey, what are you doing?"

"I'm not getting any reception in here. I'll try outside."

Peter shook his head. "You did notice the snow, right?"

"Honey, you know how they are. I need to let them know that we're okay, and I want to make sure that everybody else is, too. Thank God Maddie's been staying with them for the whole week…" Elizabeth said, about to open the door.

But Peter blocked it. "I'm sure everybody's fine or holed up somewhere like we are. If you go back out there, we could have just stayed on the road."

"I'll just be a minute," she assured him.

It didn't do any good. "Famous last words of everyone who ever froze to death in a snowstorm," Peter deadpanned.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him, but she knew better than to argue with her husband about matters of personal safety, especially hers.

She put her phone away and sank onto the bed, heaving a sigh. "Now what are we going to do?" They were stuck in this cheap motel room that had a bed and a TV and not much else.

"We'll figure something out," Peter said, but Elizabeth couldn't share his confidence. She was worried about her family, disappointed that she wouldn't get to see them, and upset that she had stranded Peter and herself in this awful motel.

At least, it had its own bathroom and that's where Elizabeth disappeared to for a moment. Not too long, though, because the heating didn't seem to be working, and it was uncomfortably cold in there. She didn't dare to try the shower. She would bet dollars to donuts that there was no hot water right now.

When Elizabeth left the bathroom again, she blinked in surprise. The motel room looked a little different than just a few minutes ago. Peter had lit a couple of candles and turned one of their suitcases into a makeshift table with two plastic cups, a bottle of both water and wine, and some packaged food on top of it.

Before she could say anything, Peter walked up to her and wrapped her favorite cardigan around her shoulders.

"Where did all this come from?" she finally managed to ask.

"You didn't think I would drive us right into a snowstorm without packing for an emergency, did you?"

"So you brought candles?"

"No, those I found in the closet," he admitted. "And the wine is the one we were going to give to your parents, but I'm sure they'll understand. The food might look unhealthy, but it's high in fiber and protein, and rich in the good kind of fat."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Right, how could I ever forget that I married a little boy scout?" she said and leaned back against his chest. "Thanks, hon."

Peter rubbed her arms to warm her up and then led them over to the bed to sit and eat. He poured some of the wine into the plastic cups, and Elizabeth bit her lip so she wouldn't comment on that sacrilege.

After taking a sip, it was Peter, though, who noted, "This wine really is very good."

Elizabeth smiled. "Coming from you, that is saying something."

"Do I want to know how much this cost?" Peter wondered.

"Well, I was going to give that to my parents for their 40th wedding anniversary…" Elizabeth said slowly.

"So that's a no," Peter guessed.

"Pretty much."

"You could have warned me before I opened the bottle."

"I could have, but I always wanted to try this myself," Elizabeth admitted with a lopsided grin.

Peter shook his head at first, but then he shrugged. "Maybe that's the one good thing that came out of all this then."

"I don't know. This is certainly one of the most interesting dinners we've ever had," Elizabeth said, resting her head on Peter's shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Still, I'm sorry we didn't get to the resort to be with your parents. 40 years of marriage is definitely worth celebrating."

"Mm-hmm."

Peter turned his head so he could look at her better. "You don't think so?"

"Of course, I do. I couldn't be happier for them. It just reminds me of how old I am," Elizabeth confessed.

Peter laughed, but he quickly shut up when he saw the look on her face. "El, you're not old!"

Elizabeth sighed. "But I'm getting there. With gray hairs and everything starting to sag."

"I have never seen so much as one gray hair on your head," Peter insisted.

"Because I always pull them out before you can," she told him.

He gaped at her. "Seriously?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Honey, you know I will love you with gray hairs as much as without them. I'm sure they would make you look very wise."

"I don't want to look wise," Elizabeth said, grimacing.

Peter chuckled. "And as for the rest of it," he said, cupping her face and then letting that hand trace the line of her jaw and neck and trailing further down her chest. "I consider myself a bit of an expert on the subject matter, and I can assure you that everything is exactly where it's supposed to be."

Elizabeth smiled and leaned in for a kiss. Still, these kinds of thoughts weren't as easy to shake off as they used to be. "Thanks, honey, but mother nature isn't as forgiving as you. We've been married for almost ten years now, which is wonderful, but not even how much you love me can change what that means."

"What does it mean?"

"That I am getting too old for certain things." She paused before adding softly, "Like getting pregnant."

Peter's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected her to bring that up. "El…"

"It's been years," Elizabeth interrupted him. "I don't know what chance we had after we decided we wouldn't try IVF. But whatever chance we had, I'm sure it's pretty much gone by now." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to talk about this now. Perhaps because they had ended up in this motel despite having had an entirely different plan. Just like life had made other plans for them regarding who they were as a family.

Peter repositioned his hand on her chest until it rested right on top of her heart and they could both feel it beating. Then he looked back into her eyes. "You're not old, hon," he repeated. "But I can't wait for you to get old. With me. So we can be the ones celebrating 40 years. And if we don't have any children to invite, I'll still be the luckiest man on this Earth."

Elizabeth bit her lip, trying to keep a handle on her feelings, but then she just let go and allowed her smile to spread and her eyes to glisten. "I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one. Lucky that someone thought it worthwhile to steal a certain painting that once hung in my gallery."

"Definitely my favorite crime," Peter agreed with a grin.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Should an FBI agent have a list with crimes he actually liked?"

"It's an extremely short list," Peter assured her.

"Is Neal on it?"

Peter sighed. "I don't want to talk about Neal right now."

"But he's getting out soon, isn't he?"

"He is."

"Do you think he's changed?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't know." Peter shook his head. "I hope so. I hope he gets out, marries Kate, settles down, and lives happily ever after."

Elizabeth smirked. "Do you actually believe that's what he's going to do?"

"Nope. But it's what I would tell him to do. I'd tell him it worked for me." Peter smiled. "Of course, that only works with the right woman."

"Then he would probably ask how he's supposed to know whether he has found the right one or not," Elizabeth argued.

"Easy. Let her see the real you, and if she still doesn't run for the hills despite all your faults and no matter what her father thinks, then she's the one," Peter said.

Elizabeth's eyes twinkled. "What about her faults?"

"Doesn't have any," Peter replied quickly. When she gave him a disbelieving look, he added, "Perhaps a penchant for buying ridiculously expansive wine."

She laughed into his shoulder before then looking up at him more thoughtfully. "When we got married, did you think this is where we'd be ten years later?"

"In a cheap motel room buried under ten feet of snow? No, can't say that I did," Peter answered.

Elizabeth nudged him.

"I don't know, honey. I just hoped that we'd be happy. Getting Satchmo, moving into the house, my promotion to SSA, you building Burke Premiere Events from the ground up… all those things turned out so much better than I ever could have imagined them."

"So no regrets?"

Peter shook his head. "None whatsoever."

"Not even if you could have been a Major League baseball player instead?" Elizabeth asked.

Peter snorted. "Depends."

Elizabeth lifted her head off his shoulder. "On what?"

"If a certain gorgeous blue-eyed brunette would have come to one of my games and met with me afterwards to ask for an autograph."

"I might have," Elizabeth conceded. "But what then? You probably would have given autographs to hundreds of women."

Peter frowned. "Hardly."

"Trust me, you would have," she insisted.

"Okay, but I wouldn't have asked any of them out on a date."

"You might not have asked me out either. As far as I recall, you took your time with that," Elizabeth said with a chuckle.

Peter thought about that. "I probably would have missed the right moment, but only because I would have been completely blown away by you. I then would have sent my agent to find out who you were so I could show up outside your door in a limo."

"A limo?" Elizabeth repeated, amused.

"With tinted windows so no one could bother us," Peter nodded.

"Very thoughtful. But we couldn't have driven up to _La Cucina de Tua Nonna_ in a limo _."_

"No, my agent would have made reservations at some fancy restaurant instead, but it wouldn't have mattered because we would have never made it there."

"Oh, why not?"

Peter grinned at her. "Because we would have been alone together in a very nice limo with tinted windows, soundproof glass, and instant sexual attraction."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "On the first date? Don't you think you're just a little bit full of yourself?"

"I am a famous Major League baseball player, am I not?"

"Right, which would have made me wonder how many other women you had convinced to give it up in the back of your limo before me."

"I told you. I wouldn't have asked any of them out."

"But how would you have made me believe that?"

Peter huffed. "You're really making me work for this."

Elizabeth smiled innocently. "Well, if you don't think I'm worth it…"

"I would have invited you to come to my next game, best seats in the house, owner's box," Peter suggested.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, not impressed.

"I would have hit a home run for you and made sure you could have kept the ball."

Her other eyebrow lazily joined the first one.

Peter made a face, but then he relaxed into a smile. "I would have met you after the game and waited for everyone to leave, made sure we had all of Yankee Stadium to ourselves. I would have led you out onto the mound and asked you if you'd like to try and hit a ball. I would have been terribly nervous about touching you while teaching you how to hold the bat, because I would have realized that the other night in the limo had given you the wrong impression about me.

You would have laughed at me and I would have never heard anything more beautiful. Then I would have told you about my walkout song being 'I go to work', except that I would replace 'work' with 'Burke', and you would have laughed some more. Until I would have told you that it was my mother who came up with that song and that she had used it to convince me to return to baseball once when I had been about to call it quits. And that by playing that song, I could always have her with me, for every game.

Then I would have asked for permission to drive you home, and this time, I would have walked you to your door and asked you to forgive me for being a presumptuous jerk the other night," Peter finished, looking at her questioningly.

By way of answering, Elizabeth took his face in her hands and kissed him until they ran out of air.

"Wait, is this what happened in the limo or you accepting my apology?" Peter asked, laughter dancing in his eyes.

"I suggest you run with it and find out," Elizabeth replied.

Peter quickly moved the open wine bottle out of the way and shoved the suitcase and the rest of the food off the bed before pushing her into the pillows. The cold from outside had slowly begun to creep into the room, but Elizabeth felt none of it when she discarded her cardigan and pulled her sweater over her head.

Peter's skin was just as warm to her touch. His chest and stomach muscles were still taut and smooth, thanks to his FBI training routine, and Elizabeth loved to let her fingers trail all the way down to his waistband. With this heat of their own making pulsating strongly within her, from her heart to the apex of her thighs, she forgot all about the cold. And she realized that it had been ridiculous of her to fear that growing old would change anything about this feeling.

Her breath was already uneven when they paused for a moment before removing what little remained of their clothing.

"Thanks for letting me see you. The real you," Elizabeth whispered.

"Thanks for not running for the hills," Peter whispered back.

"Never," she promised before giving herself to him.

As she knew she would have done in any version of their story.

* * *

He only needed a couple of seconds to orient himself when he woke up. This wasn't the right bed or the right linens, but it was definitely the right woman next to him.

One of Peter's feet poked out from underneath the comforter, and it told him that the motel room had become ice cold during the night. But he didn't mind because the rest of him was perfectly comfortable and warm. El's soft body was pressed up against him and he had an arm wrapped around her to hold her close. She was still asleep.

In the early morning light that filtered through the snow-covered windows and hit her skin like hundreds of small diamonds, she looked absolutely glorious.

This was quite possibly the plainest motel room he had ever slept in. And there was a good chance that they were still cut off from the rest of the world. But Peter couldn't bring himself to care as long as he got to wake up next to El, knowing that they belonged to each other completely and would always be safe in each other's arms.

He was thinking about simply closing his eyes again and going back to sleep when El opened hers.

"I was kind of hoping we would wake up in that penthouse suite you would have rented from all the money you made playing for the Yankees," she muttered, burying her face in his shoulder.

Peter laughed. "I'm afraid not. All I can offer you this morning is an FBI agent who'd be willing to brave the cold out there to go and hunt down breakfast for you."

"I'll take the FBI agent, but I would like him to stay right here," El replied, stretching a little so she could kiss him.

Peter grinned and pulled her on top of him, making sure she remained completely covered by the comforter.

Which proved entirely pointless when a cell phone began to ring. Suddenly, El was wide-awake and jumped right out of bed. "My phone! That must be Mom and Dad. Where the hell did I put it?"

Peter might have answered her if he hadn't been completely engrossed in watching his wife, stark naked and clearly freezing, running around the room to look for her phone. When El noticed the amusement on his face, she chucked a pillow at him. He caught it, laughing, and El finally found her phone.

"Hello? Mom? Can you hear me?" she asked while Peter reached out to pull her back onto the bed and wrap the comforter around her so she wouldn't end up getting pneumonia.

"Yes, we're fine. We're in some motel off… actually, I'm not quite sure. Is everybody else okay?... Are you sure?... Yes, we're coming. We'll try at least… We will."

El hung up the phone and met Peter's questioning look with a helpless little shrug. "Mom says everybody's okay, but no one made it up to the resort yesterday, so she's cancelling the whole thing. She, Dad, and Maddie are still at the house, and they want us to come to."

"Well, I'd say our chances of getting back to Chicago are a lot better than going further North," Peter nodded.

"Do you think we can give it a try?" El asked hopefully. After speaking with her mom, she seemed even more impatient to finally see her family.

Peter got out of bed himself now in an attempt to look out the window. "It doesn't seem to be snowing anymore. If they had time to clear the freeway, we should stand a chance at least."

Excited, El stood and joined him, giving him a kiss. "Thank you."

"I'm making no promises," Peter warned her. He wanted to get out of here, too, but more than that, he wanted them to be safe.

El shook her head. "No, I meant for looking at me like I'm not old."

Peter laughed. "I've only ever looked at you the same way, honey, and that's not going to change."

She smiled and pulled him away from the window and into the bathroom. They took a shower together, which, incidentally, was the best way to stay warm. Dressed and ready they ventured outside for the first time in hours and spent several minutes trying to free their car from underneath all that snow. But the snow wasn't fresh, so Peter had hope. As long as they made it off this parking lot that hadn't really been plowed yet.

They managed, though, and, just like he had predicted, the freeway looked a lot better than it had yesterday. Most cars were still going more slowly than usual, but at least they were able to see where they were going. Making it safely to El's parents became an actual possibility. Which was good because El could barely sit still anymore.

When they pulled up in front of the house, Alan opened the front door to usher them inside.

"Hello, Dad." El happily stepped into her father's embrace.

"Are you okay, honeybee? We were really worried about you when we couldn't reach you yesterday," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry. The roads got so bad that we had to stop at a motel with no reception, but Peter took care of us," El told him.

"Hello, Alan," Peter said when his father-in-law's gaze went from his daughter to him.

"Peter," he greeted him in his usual curt manner.

El glossed right over their lackluster greeting. "So, where's Mom?" she asked.

"She's in the basement checking on our food supplies. She's afraid we'll run out when your aunt and uncle and your cousins arrive. She could probably use an experienced event planner to tell her that it'll be fine and that no one will starve to death. Because she's not listening to me."

El nodded and quickly made her way into the house. Peter was about to follow her when Alan held him back.

"Peter."

"Yes?" he asked, turning back around.

"Thank you for taking care of Elizabeth. I'm glad you're both here with us," Alan said.

Peter tried to hide his surprise, but he probably wasn't very good at it. "I'm glad to hear you think so."

Alan seemed to know exactly what was going through his head. "I know I'm being hard on you sometimes, Peter, but... you'll understand one day."

They shared a look, and Peter thought he understood what his father-in-law was saying. He wasn't sure if he still believed in it, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

He picked up their bags and carried them upstairs into the room they usually stayed in. It was El's old room, but when they had first visited, Peter had been somewhat disappointed to discover that it had been converted into a guest room. El herself had insisted on it and done most of the decorating. It made sense, of course, but Peter wouldn't have minded a glimpse into his wife's early years.

When he made it back downstairs, he found Maddie sitting in the living room.

"There you are! We were beginning to think that you had fallen off the face of this Earth!" his sister-in-law welcomed him with a hug and a grin.

"Felt a little bit like it," Peter told her before sitting down next to her.

Maddie opened her mouth to respond, but she paused when her mother and sister came back up from the basement, arguing.

"Mom, it's your anniversary. You're supposed to be celebrating without having to do all the work. I thought that was the plan," El was just pointing out.

"Well, yes, but obviously that plan has changed. We've now told everyone to come here, but we hadn't expected guests so nothing's ready," Tina replied, too stressed to even notice that she hadn't said hello to Peter yet.

"Okay, but I can help with that," El offered, not for the first time if the exasperation in her voice was any indication.

Tina shook her head. "You're a guest, too."

"I'm your daughter and an event planner. This is literally what I do for a living," El reminded her.

"Exactly. You and Peter work all the time. I won't have you working on the weekend, too."

"But if we're not supposed to work, then you shouldn't either. That makes absolutely no sense!"

Both mother and daughter looked like they could go several more rounds, and Peter exchanged a concerned look with Maddie.

"Don't worry. I got this," she whispered before standing up and announcing, "I think we should play a game."

Peter furrowed his brow. "A game? That's your solution?"

"Elementary school teacher, remember?" Maddie winked at him. "Trust me. Works every time."

It did work insofar that the interruption surprised El and her mother enough to make them stop bickering. And when Tina turned around to look at her other daughter, her eyes also fell on Peter.

"Oh, Peter, oh dear, I'm so sorry. I don't know where my head is today!" She said while she rushed over to hug him. "You should have said something, you bad boy!"

"No need to apologize. This storm caught all of us by surprise," he said, cringing at the godawful nickname he just couldn't get rid of any more than those sweaters she kept knitting for him. Otherwise, she was the loveliest mother-in-law in the world, but that song and those horrible sweaters...

Peter had stood up to embrace her, but Maddie pushed them both back down onto the couch.

"Actually, this is perfect. Mom, you can sit right here. Lizzie, Dad, come sit over there, facing them," she ordered.

Alan slowly walked over to them. Funny how the psychiatrist in the family never seemed to be around when his wife and daughter were arguing. "What's going on?"

"It's your 40th wedding anniversary – that's what's going on! And now we're going to play a game to celebrate."

"You were serious about that?" El asked while she sat down across from Peter like she had been told. Peter hadn't figured out yet for what purpose.

"Lizzie, when have you ever known me not to be serious about playing a game?" Maddie replied.

Tina tried to stand back up. "But I don't have time..."

Maddie pushed her back down. "You took care of other people for 40 years. You have time, Mom, trust me."

When the four of them were all sitting, Maddie retrieved a bag from upstairs and handed each of them a small whiteboard and a marker.

"Um, I'm not playing," Peter said quickly.

"Of course, you are. This is a couple's game, and Mom and Dad need someone to play against. It's perfectly simple. I'll ask you questions and you have to write down your answers at the same time. Then you hold them up, and if your answers match, you get a point. The couple with the most points wins."

Peter's eyes widened. "I already hate this game."

"You haven't even played it yet!" Maddie protested.

"Don't have to. If I answer correctly and win, I risk upsetting my in-laws. If I give the wrong answer, I'll get in trouble with my wife. I'm pretty sure that's a lose-lose situation."

Alan removed the cap from his marker. "Sounds to me like you're scared, Peter."

Surprised, Peter looked at his father-in-law, but then he remembered that the Mitchells had always been into playing games. Probably because it was a valuable learning opportunity from a psychological standpoint. The only problem was, they all liked to win and hated to lose. Peter respected that because he was the same way, but not when it meant angering people who could make his life miserable.

It seemed he didn't have a choice, though. "I'm not scared. El and I only have to remember ten years, not 40, so I'm pretty sure we have the advantage here."

El shot him a look, surprised that he was taking on her father.

"The advantage of youth, perhaps, but also its weaknesses – overconfidence and a lack of experience," Alan replied.

"Peter and I have plenty of experience in a lot of things, some I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to hear about," El got on board, teasing her father.

"Oh, darling, that threat works both ways," Tina warned her with a chuckle, the nature of which Peter really didn't want to know.

Maddie clapped her hands. "I see we're all warmed up! Excellent. Then here's your first question. It's an easy one. On the day you met, who saw the other one first?"

Peter smiled to himself because he would never forget how El had literally taken his breath away when she had walked towards him in the lobby of the DeArmitt Gallery. She had done so lots of times since, but nothing would ever quite compare to that moment. Only that wasn't the question.

He wrote down, 'Same time.'

When he looked up, El had a guilty look on her face that told him that this was not going to go the way he had thought it would. Her board said, 'I did.'

"I might have checked you out from inside the office," El confessed before he could even open his mouth to ask.

"Oh, so when you told me that you had kept me waiting because it had been a busy morning…?"

"That was the truth, but also I had never spoken to the FBI before so I was stalling just a little bit."

Peter frowned. "I didn't realize I looked so terrifying."

"Honey, you didn't. The only reason I came out of the office when I did was that you looked so perfectly handsome," El said, causing them both to smile.

"Cute, but you still don't get a point for that," Maddie told them. Alan and Tina on the other hand were in agreement that Alan had seen her first. Maddie marked their score on another whiteboard. Peter had a feeling that the teacher in her was enjoying herself immensely. "Second question: What did you do on your third date? And no, not the first one, everybody knows that!"

Peter remembered the third date as well as the first one, but he glanced at El because he wasn't sure how detailed and truthful she wanted to answer this. She seemed to be writing a lot.

Maddie stepped right into his line of sight. "Eyes on your own board, Peter!"

Yup, definitely enjoying herself.

"Okay, let's see it!"

This time, Peter laughed when he saw El's answer. She had written, 'We cooked Tagliatelle al Salmone after grandma's recipe together at my place, had expensive wine the FBI had confiscated, talked late into the night, and in the morning, we got interrupted by my nosy big sister.'

Maddie clicked her tongue. "Insulting the game master is never a smart choice, sis. But I'll give you this one because I think it's funny how you both found ways not to say what you were actually doing."

Peter had written, 'Cooked dinner at El's place, talked, stayed over, met her family.' Despite El's earlier warning they had both opted not to go into the details of that particular night. It was enough that they both remembered it when they exchanged a long look while Maddie's attention was on her parents.

"Now, Mom, Dad, what's this?"

Alan had written, 'Took her dancing,' but Tina's board said, 'Took a drive to a lake for a long walk.' Peter smirked while they began to argue about who had gotten what mixed up.

His smirk disappeared quickly when he heard the next question. "What was your first fight about?"

He had no idea what qualified as their first fight in El's eyes. He was tempted to simply put down 'coming home late from work' because that seemed like a safe bet. But he had a feeling it might also get him in trouble. So Peter decided to choose something slightly more specific.

'Going too far in trying to protect El,' his board said when he turned it around. He liked that answer because it had a positive aspect to it, and Peter would never be sorry about protecting her.

Maybe that's why El smiled, even though her answer was, 'Trusting each other.'

Maddie shook her head. "Nope."

"Why not? You said our answers needed to match. These are two sides of the same coin," El argued.

"Then write that next time," Maddie brushed her off and focused on her parents.

Their boards said the exact same thing: 'Emily Meyerson.'

"Wow, there's got to be a story there. Who is Emily Meyerson?" Maddie asked curiously.

"She was your father's fiancée before we met," Tina answered, which was clearly news to both sisters.

El turned towards her father next to her. "You were engaged before you met Mom?"

"Or were you engaged _until_ you met Mom? Is there a family scandal here we don't know about?" Maddie added.

Alan shook his head at both of his daughters. "Emily and I had known each other since childhood. It was a union that both of our parents wanted more than we did – which I realized when I got to know your mother. That is all."

"All you're going to tell us, you mean, because clearly, it was messy enough to cause your first fight."

"That is a very astute observation, sweetheart, but we still get a point, don't we? Which means we're pulling ahead," Alan pointed out.

"You can have this round. At least, Peter and I were only ever engaged to each other," El said, giving him a smile. Plus, they weren't very good at fighting, so Peter wasn't surprised they got this question wrong – according to Maddie, anyway.

Next to him, Tina leaned forward. "That is not altogether true, honey. You were engaged to Seth Parker once."

Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Who the hell is Seth Parker?" He had never heard of that guy before, not in a decade of being with El and not in the (never to be mentioned again) background check he had done on her that one time.

El rolled her eyes at her mother. "That was in second grade," she explained.

"All of second grade," Tina corrected her.

"Oh, I think I remember him!" Maddie chimed in. "You were holding hands all the time and he did everything you told him to do. It was hilarious."

More than a little intrigued, Peter looked back at El. "Who broke up with whom?"

"I don't remember." His wife shrugged, wanting to move on from this.

Unfortunately for her (but fortunately for Peter), her mother did not. "It was quite tragic," she told Peter. "It was Valentine's Day, and Alan brought home three roses, one for each of his girls. Maddie and Lizzie got very excited about that. But poor Seth Parker had no idea he was supposed to do something like that. So he didn't give her anything and she broke up with him, too young to realize that this was the first time her father had interfered."

"All I did was show her that she should aim higher than Seth Parker," Alan defended his actions.

"The poor boy was seven years old and heartbroken," Tina said, but she was laughing.

Peter meanwhile made two mental notes – one, to look up Seth Parker when he was back at work, and two, not to forget Valentine's Day ever again.

El seemed to read his mind. "Don't you even think about it!" she threatened.

"What? Getting you a rose for Valentine's?" Peter asked, feigning innocence.

"No, looking up Seth as if he grew up to become a serial killer," El clarified.

"You never know. I wouldn't even know how to go on after losing you," Peter said simply.

The look on El's face softened and she seemed tempted to get up and walk over to him, but Maddie intervened.

"Save it for later, guys. We have a game to finish."

And so they did, and there didn't seem to be an end to the questions Maddie had in store. Who had said 'I love you' first?

(El. Although Peter tried to make a case that he had said something along the lines of her being 'impossible not to love', which El informed him didn't count. To which Peter would have almost replied that it had been good enough for them to end up in bed together, but he remembered just in time that he was sitting right across from her father.)

Who surprised whom more frequently?

(Peter. Although the question didn't specify if that was in a good or in a bad way. He was pretty good at both.)

Who had been more nervous about the wedding?

(El. No argument there.)

Who usually gave in first when they weren't seeing eye to eye on a decision that had to be made?

(Peter. No argument there either, at least not once Peter reminded them of that time when El had insisted that they needed new curtains. Of course, Peter hadn't really given in so much as El had simply gone right over his head – and paid for it with a sprained ankle. Nevertheless, it had kind of set the tone for these situations. Now, Peter would always rather give in than see her get hurt.)

But Alan and Tina matched them at almost every turn. It was obvious why they had made it to 40 years and were still going strong.

Eventually, they heard a car coming up the driveway. "That must be Uncle Dave. Okay, final question then," Maddie said. "The one to decide it all. Everyone ready? What do you value the most in your relationship – what has it given you?"

Peter thought he had done well so far, not only because they currently stood at a tie, but because none of his answers had caused any serious quarrels with this wife. This question felt like a major one, though, and Peter was drawing a blank. How was he supposed to put into words what his marriage meant to him?

"Time's up," Maddie announced when they heard the banging of car doors outside. "Mom, Dad, you look rather sure of yourselves."

"For good reason, sweetheart," Tina replied sweetly.

And she wasn't wrong. Her board said, 'Our children,' while Alan had specified, 'Our daughters.' In hindsight, it had been the obvious answer.

"Lizzie, Peter, your turn."

El looked a little overwhelmed, but Peter wasn't sure if she was moved by her parents' answer or worried about her own. When they both turned around their whiteboards, Peter smiled. They looked very different at first glance, but essentially, it was the same answer.

El had tried to put the dilemma Peter had felt into words. She had written, 'Trust. Safety. Respect. Intimacy. Joy.'

Peter had written, 'Everything.'

"Good answer," El said with a chuckle.

"Not as elegant as yours," Peter admitted.

"And not the same," Maddie added.

"Of course, it is. 'Everything' includes everything that El wrote," Peter argued.

Maddie shook her head. "Everything and more than that."

"Well, there is only so much room on this whiteboard," El pointed out.

"Try to write smaller next time," Maddie advised her.

Peter looked at his wife. "I have a feeling this game is rigged."

"Be that as it may, I'm giving this point to Mom and Dad, which means we have a winner!" Maddie announced.

That very second the doorbell rang and prevented Alan and Tina from reveling in their victory, which was just fine with Peter.

Instead, everybody got up to welcome the new arrivals. In the typical chaos that ensued, El slipped away to go upstairs, and Peter followed her.

He found her in their room, looking for something in her bag, and he gently closed the door behind him. When El turned around, Peter held up his whiteboard that he had brought with him before Maddie could confiscate it.

It said, "Sorry we lost."

El laughed. "That's okay, hon. It is my parents' anniversary after all. They deserve to win."

"I strongly suspect that is exactly why they won," Peter said, sitting on the bed. "I hope your sister is more impartial when she's playing with her kids at school."

"Even if she isn't, I don't think they know that word yet," El replied and sat down next to him. "Anyway, I thought we did pretty good."

"More than good," Peter nodded.

"There's one thing I've been meaning to ask you, though," El said, taking his hand. "What did you mean when you said you wouldn't know how to go on if you lost me?"

Peter shrugged, surprised that she felt the need to bring that up. "Exactly that. That I wouldn't know how to live without you."

"But you know that I would want you to live, right? And not just for work either!"

"Well, work would be the only thing I'd have left."

"That's not true," El argued. "You'd have Satchmo, and all of our friends and family, and I'm sure, eventually, you'd find..."

"No," Peter interrupted her roughly, but he couldn't help himself. He was not going to go there, not even in a hypothetical scenario.

"Honey..."

"I thought the plan was to be your parents, not mine," he pointed out.

El smiled softly. "Yes, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans."

"That you should marry an event planner to make sure they all work out?" Peter said, pressing a kiss to her hand.

She burst out laughing, and the sound only confirmed that he wasn't interested in a world where it didn't exist.

El rested her chin on his shoulder. "In that case," she said, "this event planner plans to love you forever. Does that sound like enough time?"

"No," Peter said, kissing her forehead. "But it's a start."


	27. What Comes After

**A/N: This is it. Final chapter. I had so much fun writing this story. I might write more Peter and El stuff in the future, but for now I think it's time to let them go (and perhaps watch White Collar again). Thanks so much to all of you who read, reviewed, and enjoyed this story!**

* * *

"... A couple of months later, I was told that a certain inmate had escaped from prison with only four months left on a four-year sentence, forcing me to go out and catch him – again –, making me late for dinner – again –, and you know the rest."

Peter leaned back, feeling slightly exhausted, but in a good way.

El had invited Neal to come over for dinner. Their empty plates were still on the table, but they had long since moved from the dinner table to the couch. Because somehow – Peter wasn't exactly sure how, then again, this was Neal they were talking about – Neal had persuaded him and El to share their full story with him. He had insisted that he only knew bits and pieces of it and that the was dying to know the rest. At first, Peter hadn't liked the idea of giving Neal any further ammunition – telling him too much about anything that wasn't case-related was usually a bad idea –, but it had actually been fun to relive it all.

Of course, they hadn't shared any of the more intimate or deeply personal details with Neal (nor would he have wanted to hear them). But one look at El, who was now sitting next to him, leaning against his shoulder while he had one arm wrapped around her back, and Peter had known that she remembered everything just as vividly as he did.

"That's quite an amazing story. Thanks for sharing it with me," Neal said, and he really did look like he didn't regret asking for it, even though it had turned into a long night.

"Well, you've been a part of it for so long now, it's really your story, too," El told him.

Neal's face lit up with that smile that was bright enough to block out the sun. "Really?"

El laughed and reached out to squeeze Neal's hand. "Of course."

Not too long ago, witnessing this kind of familiarity between his wife and his CI would have driven Peter up the wall, but now he was able to smile about it. About El, who had a heart that was so big and so kind that she had been willing to welcome a man into their house who used to be the criminal who took up every minute of her husband's time (and sometimes still did). And about Neal, who seemed to long for exactly the kind of comfort and unwavering support El offered to anyone who deserved it.

And Neal deserved it. He just needed to commit to doing the right thing this time.

"As long as you boys haven't been keeping any other secrets from me," El said.

"Um, what?" Peter snapped out of his thoughts in alarm.

"She's talking about the ring, Peter," Neal helped him out.

Peter's shoulders relaxed. "Oh, honey, I would have told you about that sooner. I just didn't want to upset you."

"Why would I be upset?" El asked, laughing. "I think it's hilarious."

Peter watched the broad smile on his wife's face with a small frown. "It's not that funny," he muttered.

El ignored him and looked back at Neal. "And thank you for the ring, I guess."

"I just laid the groundwork. Peter picked it," Neal replied graciously. He had talked a very different game before, but it was nice of him not to make Peter look bad in front of Elizabeth.

"Either way, your very first case together was a resounding success if you ask me," El said, giving Neal a wink and resting her hand on Peter's knee.

"Yeah, although if I had known Peter would have such a hard time figuring out how to propose, I would have given him some pointers on that, too," Neal said.

So much for not making Peter look bad. He shot his CI a dirty look. "I didn't need any pointers from someone who looked like he had just run away from a school field trip. What exactly were you doing in that jewelry store by the way?"

"You're right, Peter. You had already figured out the most important part. You told me your fiancée was perfect, and while I doubted you back then, I now have to admit that you weren't exaggerating," Neal smoothly sidestepped the question and flashed a smile at El.

Okay, there were certain levels of familiarity that Peter did not want to see between the two. "Stop flirting with my wife, Neal!" he said.

"Come on, Peter, after the story you just told me, I'd be crazy to even try," Neal replied with a grin.

"And we both know how much you love a challenge," Peter reminded him.

"Actually, I think that's you," Neal argued. "I'm not a fan of setting myself up for failure."

"Good, because I already won this one. Just as long as we're clear on that."

"Crystal. But you should be careful, Peter. Jealousy is not a very attractive quality."

"Neither is philandering."

El looked from one to the other and cleared her throat. "Excuse me, are you done arguing about what I do or do not find attractive? Because watching you two get into a measuring contest definitely isn't it."

Peter tried to look chastised. He sometimes got carried away in these verbal sparring matches with Neal. But it kept him on his toes. Handling Neal would definitely never get old.

"Sorry, honey," he said and pressed a soft kiss to her temple in apology.

"Yes, sorry, Elizabeth. But you know it's a compliment when two grown men start to behave like teenagers. Only happens around beautiful women."

"Neal!"

"Sorry, force of habit," Neal grinned.

El shook her head a little. "Why don't you use all that charm of yours on someone who's not married? I know losing Kate was hard and moving on is even harder, but I cannot believe that there isn't anybody else out there for you."

"That's an easy thing to say for someone who has already found their one in seven billion," Neal pointed out.

Peter used the arm he had wrapped around El's shoulder to pull her a little closer and she looked up to smile at him. When considering those numbers, the odds of meeting each other, it did seem like a small miracle that they were sitting here right now.

"Peter and I did find each other, but that doesn't mean we didn't also take a leap of faith in the beginning," El told Neal.

"We did?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised.

"Of course, we did, honey," El replied, squeezing his knee. "I could have not been strong enough to be an FBI wife. You could have grown tired of me dragging you to fancy events or nagging you about good food and good wine. We could have changed our minds about what we wanted our life to look like. There's always a million things that can go wrong."

Peter shrugged. "I don't think I ever worried about any of those. I guess I was ready to take that leap the first moment I saw you."

El snorted. "Sure, you were, hon, after putting in a surveillance request and running a background check on me and everyone I had ever known…"

"Those were for your safety, not mine," Peter protested.

"Really? And what if I had been seeing someone back then?" El asked.

Peter furrowed his brow. That wasn't a scenario he liked to think about. "Like I said, I would have made sure that you were safe. That he didn't have so much as a parking ticket and that he treated you right. And then… I guess you would have always been my one that got away."

"Seriously, Peter?" Neal chimed back in. "Have I taught you nothing?"

"What? Was I supposed to challenge him to a hat twirling contest?" Peter scoffed.

"No, but at the very least you should have stuck around. Run into her a couple of times, purely by accident of course. Make up a few follow-up meetings because of the theft investigation and just happen to discuss those over a nice lunch or dinner…"

"Right, and that's why I'm an FBI agent and you're a con man."

Neal shrugged. "At least I wouldn't have let her get away."

El chuckled. "What if I had still been with Josh?" she asked Peter.

Apparently, that was the downside of reliving the past. It brought up the bad stuff, too, or rather the inconsequential stuff that shouldn't even be given enough room to breathe.

"Then I would have come over to your apartment and punched him in the face. Repeatedly," Peter replied and tried not to curl his hand into a fist. Part of him regretted that he had never gotten a chance to do that. Sometimes living up to the badge wasn't fun.

As Neal kept reminding him constantly.

"And landed yourself in jail? How would that have helped us?" El wondered.

"Maybe we could have been cellmates," Neal suggested when Peter didn't respond right away. "Then I could have taught you how to properly impress a woman like Elizabeth."

Peter shook his head at that ludicrous idea. "I hate this conversation. Weren't we going to talk about you and not us?"

Neal merely shot him a grin. As usual, he was doing everything he could to avoid talking about Kate or committing to something, even if it was just a simple conversation. Sometimes Peter wondered if the person Neal was actually conning was himself.

Before he could point any of that out to him, Satchmo padded over to them and pushed his nose against El's leg with a little whine.

"What's wrong, Satch? Do you need to go out?" she asked, reaching out to give him a cuddle. He wagged his tail and licked her hands. "It's gotten late. I should go on a quick walk around the block with him," she said to Peter.

"No, it's my turn. I'll take him," he replied.

El narrowed her eyes at him. "You just don't want to help clean up the kitchen."

"Or I don't want you to go out there by yourself this late," Peter corrected her.

"How about you both go walk Satchmo and I clean up the kitchen?" Neal offered.

"No," Peter said without thinking.

"Come on, Peter, you have to trust me enough to leave me alone in the house at some point."

Peter smirked. "Do I? Do I really?"

El rolled her eyes at both of them. "Okay, hon, you can take Satch, but don't forget the new leash I got for him this morning," she said to put an end to this discussion.

"Where is it?"

"I think I left it upstairs. I'll get it for you," El said and got up to go upstairs.

Peter and Neal stood, too, and slowly headed towards the hallway with Satchmo right behind them.

"I guess I should get going then," Neal said. "Thanks for having me over."

"You should thank El. It was her idea," Peter told him. He hadn't been against it, but after dealing with Neal at work all day, Peter usually opted for having his wife to himself when he came home. But he couldn't argue with how this night had turned out.

Neal nodded in understanding. "I will. Maybe I'll be invited back then the next time Elizabeth needs someone with a more refined palate."

Peter decided to ignore that little taunt. "Seemed to me like you never actually needed an invitation," he pointed out instead. Ever since Neal had gotten out of prison, he constantly showed up at their house unannounced.

"It's still nice to get one," he replied with a shrug.

"Well, you have it," Peter told him because it was true. Most of the time, anyway. "As long as you behave yourself. I can and will dust my own house for prints if I have to."

"I absolutely believe that you would," Neal nodded half-seriously and half-mockingly.

"Seriously, Neal, don't mess this up. My wife really likes you, and so does my dog. Don't prove them wrong," Peter said while scratching Satchmo's ears.

"I'm not sure if that's supposed to be encouraging or threatening," Neal frowned.

Peter grinned at him. "Whichever works. All I'm saying is, choose a path and stick to it. Worked wonders for me."

"I can see that," Neal replied when El came back downstairs to give Peter the leash and a kiss.

Peter attached the leash to Satchmo's collar and turned towards the door. "See you tomorrow, Neal," he said before leaving.

Only then did he realize how much he really trusted Neal because there was nothing more important he could have left him alone with than El.

* * *

"You're leaving, too?" Elizabeth asked when her husband and dog were out of the door.

"I took up enough of your time tonight. But dinner was fantastic. Thank you so much for having me," Neal said.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Uh-huh, so what was that talk about staying to help clean up the kitchen? Was that just another con?"

"Of course not. I don't con people who cooked such a lovely dinner for me," Neal answered smoothly after only a short moment of surprise. "I just figured I wasn't allowed to touch anything with Peter out of the house."

"Why not? Are you planning on stealing our silverware?" Elizabeth joked.

Neal thought about that. "It would be fun to watch Peter try to solve the case of the missing tablespoon."

"You say that now. Wait until you've actually seen him hunt down a chipmunk."

"What?"

Elizabeth laughed at the confused look on his face. "Never mind. It's okay. You don't have to stay and help. I was just kidding."

"No, I'll help!" Neal insisted. "There's nothing waiting for me at home except for Moz drinking his way through my wine cabinet."

"I tried to invite him, too, but he said breaking bread with a suit went against everything he believed in," Elizabeth said with a chuckle while picking up their empty plates and carrying them over to the sink.

"I know. He's special that way. He'll come around," Neal said while collecting their glasses and bringing those.

Elizabeth began to load up the dishwasher and then wash the remaining pots and pans by hand before giving them to Neal to dry them off. She couldn't help smiling to herself the entire time. Right now, he looked nothing like the international word-class thief and forger her husband had been chasing for so long.

"What? Am I doing it wrong?" Neal asked when he noticed her smile.

"I just can't remember how often I did this with Peter standing right there, complaining about something you did or theorizing where you might be and how he was going to catch you. And now you're right here, doing the dishes with me instead," Elizabeth explained. It was completely surreal, but at the same time, she felt like she could have seen this coming.

Neal grinned, but he said, "I feel like I never apologized to you for that."

"For what?" Elizabeth wondered.

"For taking up so much of your husband's time."

"No need. If it hadn't been you, it would have been some other case. It's just who he is, and I always knew that. But I chose to love him then and I choose to love him now," Elizabeth said simply.

Neal smiled at her thoughtfully. "Maybe you should teach a class on how that works for the rest of us mere mortals."

Elizabeth chuckled. "Peter and I are far from perfect. Nothing is ever going to be perfect. But that doesn't mean you can't still make it work. You can choose to love someone, too, Neal."

"Would be nice to get off this anklet first," Neal said, wiggling his foot.

"You will. You just need to have faith in Peter," Elizabeth told him.

It had worked for her, and she knew it would work for Neal. They just needed to stop playing games with each other. For now, they both insisted on always keeping a backdoor open so they could bail out at any time – never mind that this partnership was definitely the best thing that had ever happened to Neal and, on the days when they were trusting each other, was also good for her husband. Elizabeth hoped that getting them to come to the table and share a nice dinner every now and then would help them see that.

"I do," Neal assured her, and Elizabeth really wanted to believe him. "Most days it's fun even with the anklet on. Except for the deviled ham days. In all the years you've known Peter, you couldn't get him to give that up?"

Elizabeth laughed. "That's not how marriage works, Neal. But yes, I hear you."

"Okay, well, other than that, I am grateful I get to work with Peter," Neal nodded. "But I'm afraid I can't promise you that there won't be any more complaining. I seem to bring that out in him."

Elizabeth smiled softly. "Just bring him home safe. That's all I ask."

Neal slowly put down the sauté pan he had been drying off. There was nothing he could say to that. Nothing he could really promise her. Elizabeth knew that. She didn't need him to respond. She just needed him to know that, for her, this was not a game. This was her life. Her husband. And if Neal were to force her to pick sides (as much as Elizabeth wished they could all be on the same side for once), she would always stand with Peter. Fiercely. Unconditionally.

There was a moment of silence when they both acknowledged this. Then Neal asked, "So, who won? Peter or the chipmunk?"

Elizabeth burst out laughing and thought that maybe it wasn't so bad that Neal kept her husband from taking everything too seriously all the time.

They finished the dishes and then Neal excused himself to go to the bathroom. Elizabeth had just made some tea when the back door was opened and Satchmo came padding back into the house. The yellow Lab ran over to her for a cuddle, drank some water from his bowl, and then headed straight for the couch for a nap. He was beginning to get older, too, but his devotion and his love for them was unchanged. He was a Burke through and through.

Elizabeth chuckled and waited for Peter to come back inside as well. When he didn't, she stepped out onto the patio where she found him standing with Satchmo's leash still in his hand, looking up at the stars. Since they had spent all evening talking, she hadn't noticed that it was such a beautiful night.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked after walking over to join him.

"Just wondering how I got so lucky," Peter replied while wrapping an arm around her.

Elizabeth smiled up at him. "Did you find an answer?"

Peter wrapped his other arm around her as well, holding her close. "Nope. Don't need one. Talking to Neal tonight, I realized I can't even remember not loving you," he said as if it was always meant to be that way.

"I think that is your answer, hon," Elizabeth said and stood on her toes to cup her husband's face and kiss him – her senses alive with the taste and feel of him, with the sound of his breathing and the sight of his eyes twinkling.

Which was also a different kind of answer. An answer that reminded them both of all those mornings they had stolen a kiss before running out the door to work, and countless evenings they had spent whispering 'I love you' after finally coming back home. Of the many, many days they had walked through this crazy city together, and just as many nights when they had shared a bed and a life and sometimes loss. Of months and months of holding hands and holding on to each other because they could and because they had chosen to, and through it all, many wonderful years of always calling each other 'mine'.

Saying all that and more, their kiss only ended when Neal stepped out onto the patio.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot you are the kind of couple one can walk in on at any moment," he said, somehow both grimacing and grinning at the same time.

"Neal…" Peter warned him, but he wouldn't let go of Elizabeth, who rested her head on her husband's chest and laughed softly.

Neal held up his hands. "It's a compliment, Peter. You guys… you are really something."


End file.
